


The Legend of Zelda: Reconciliations

by rosezemlya



Series: LoZ RR [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Malon/OC, Sustained Sense of Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 418,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24321118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosezemlya/pseuds/rosezemlya
Summary: Sequel to The Legend of Zelda: The Return. Based loosely on A Link to the Past.  Cross-posted here from ff.net, where it was originally posted in 2004.  In progress.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: LoZ RR [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1755298
Comments: 48
Kudos: 40





	1. From Worse to Link We Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time fanfiction entitled The Legend of Zelda: The Return. It was posted originally to ff.net on March 1, 2004.
> 
> If you haven't read The Return, I would probably recommend at least skimming it before starting this one, because while I did my best to remain true to the original game, I DID make use of poetic license once or twice, and I elaborated greatly on much of what was left unexplored in OOT. While this fic is based on a different game, it is SET in the world from the Return and uses that world building and character development to inform the world building and character development in this one.
> 
> Reconciliation, itself, is an adaptation of A Link to the Past (the old Super Nintendo version, so it doesn't account for changes in the re-release and doesn't acknowledge A Link Between Worlds) and an attempt to reconcile (ironically enough) the two different Hyrules of A Link to the Past and Ocarina of Time. Essentially what this translates into is the plot of A Link to the Past adapted to the Hyrule of Ocarina of Time (with all of the elaborations and definitions added to it in The Return).  
>  "Adaptation" in this case means that this story follows the plot of A Link to the Past in terms of back story, important plot elements, etc. It will be recognizable as A Link to the Past; HOWEVER, it does not follow the dialogue and details as closely as a straight retelling would. 
> 
> For anyone who HASN'T played A Link to the Past, this shouldn't be too much of an issue. For anyone who HAS played the game, I have a small request: please try and keep anything that might be a spoiler out of your reviews. While I've already said that I'll be veering slightly of course on aspects of the game, the majority of it will follow the original game. A lot of you like to speculate in your reviews, which is great, I absolutely love it, please don't stop, just keep in mind that some people haven't played the game and don't have the advantage of using their knowledge of it to predict future plot directions. They can find that information if they want it, but I would feel bad if someone who didn't want to be spoiled got spoiled by accident on the fic itself.
> 
> Also worth noting, Majora's Mask happened in the time gap between The Return and Reconciliation and will occasionally be referred to here in flashbacks. The biggest effect it has on this story is that Navi is still missing as of the beginning of this story.
> 
> While the voice of this story will match the one you remember from the Return, I do want to flag in advance without spoilers that Reconciliation is darker/sadder in tone than The Return. Link's Heart of Hearts promised him at the end of The Return that there were hard times ahead for him, and he wasn't lying; HOWEVER, I really, REALLY want to stress that The Return hopefully demonstrated my affinity for mostly happy endings. I promise I have a plan, and I promise it will all work out in the end. I won't say how. I won't say for who. But if it gets overwhelming, look up the epilogue to A Link to the Past and remember that I'm planning to stick to the major plot points.
> 
> As of time of writing (May 2020), this fic is twice as long as the Return in terms of words and still in progress. I would estimate I'm approaching three-quarters complete. Updates have and will likely keep being slow, but they're long when they arrive. I want to stress, really strongly, that unless you have seen me post otherwise on one of my official accounts (twitter, tumblr, ff.net, Ao3, all under rosezemlya), through a channel that requires me to log in and prove who I am, I have NOT given up on this story. I've been at this since 2001, and I have such PLANS for it. It'll take a lot for me to abandon it entirely before it's finished.
> 
> As before, whether you read this as I was posting it, or you’re coming to it decades later, welcome and thank you for reading and know that I appreciate you more than I can say. 
> 
> Rose Zemlya  
>  rosezemlya.tumblr.com  
>  twitter.com/rosezemlya
> 
> P.S. For reference for those of you who've played the game, Tower of Din = Tower of Hera, Tower of Farore = Eastern Palace, Tower of Nayru = Desert Palace.  
>    
>    
> 
> 
> _"In a realm beyond sight,  
>  The sky shines gold, not blue.  
>  There, the Triforce's might,  
>  Makes mortal dreams come true."_
> 
> _\- The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past instruction manual_

# Prologue, Chapter 1 and Brief Interlude

## Prologue

Hunter sat at a small table in the corner of the little mountain inn and stared out the window at the swirling snowflakes. He wrapped his hands tightly around the warm mug of cider in front of him and silently willed the snow to stop. It was endlessly frustrating that they had managed to make it this close to home, only to be stopped by a snowstorm. On the other hand, he wasn't really complaining about one extra night – as much as he wanted to get back to Hyrule, he was not looking forward to finding a way to explain to Malon why he was _not_ wearing the sweater she had sent him in the last bunch of letters and parcels from home they'd received without telling her the truth – which was simply that she couldn't knit worth a damn and as much as he'd appreciated the gesture the first time he'd put the sweater on Link and Neesha had laughed so hard they fell over.

The more he though about it, though, the more it was starting to look like he was just going to have to kill Link and Neesha and wear the damn sweater. He made a face at his cider.

It was just so ugly . . .

Link, on the other hand, was not so appreciative of the delay. The storm had put him in a foul mood that no amount of goofing around and cheering up from anyone could bring him out of. Everyone had chalked it up to his eagerness to get home – he had been against the trip right from the start in the first place, so it made sense that he was anxious to get home – but Hunter knew him better than that. If that's all it was, he would have been open to cheering up. A joke here, a grin there and he would have been back to his usual self in no time, but even the combined cajoling of he and Neesha hadn't been enough to bring him out of his dark mood. Something else was up, and as curious as he was as to what, Hunter wasn't quite sure he wanted to know.

If it was bad enough to provoke that strong a reaction from Link, it couldn't be a good thing.

He had a feeling though.

He looked up as Neesha came down the stairs, looking every bit as pissed off as Link. He sighed.

"I take it he won't come down," he said dully.

"No," Neesha growled. "It's your turn to deal with him." Hunter made a face.

"I already had my turn," he said. "Just let him sulk. We can't go anywhere until the storm stops anyway. He'll realize it eventually and lighten up. Until then, I don't feel like getting my head snapped off because he's in a bad mood." Neesha glared out at the snow and the two lapsed into silence for a moment.

"Do you think everything's okay?" She asked after a moment. "In Hyrule I mean." Hunter sipped at his cider. Apparently he wasn't the only one who suspected the actual source of Link's mood.

"Of course it is," he said, though he didn't quite sound convinced. He frowned and tried again. "Look, just because we got less letters this time –"

"And the ones we did get were so fake it hurt," Neesha added darkly. "And have been getting progressively worse for the last little while."

"—doesn't mean that something's wrong at home."

"Rue didn't write," Neesha said. "Neither did Nabooru. They always write. One for me and one for Link. There was nothing this time. And none of the other letters even mentioned the Gerudo."

"Maybe . . ." But Hunter had no way to end that sentence. There was no explanation.

"Saria didn't write either. Saria writes the longest letters I've ever seen."

"Maybe . . ." Again, no explanation.

"Zelda's letter made it sound like everything was peachy keen at Castletown," Neesha said darkly. "Nothing is ever peachy keen at Castletown. When is she _not_ complaining about this lord or that lady and this scandal or that fiasco? Since when are Castletown politics as non-existent as her last letter seems to suggest?"

"Since . . ." He struggled to answer her, but he couldn't because he had all the same doubts.

"I bet you something's gone wrong," Neesha said flatly. "Something's gone wrong, and Link knows it. That's why he's been driving us double-time for the last three days. That's why he's freaking out over one night's worth of delay. Something's gone wrong, and he doesn't know what, and it's making him panic."

"That's . . . ridiculous," Hunter said finally. "Even _if_ something had gone wrong, how could Link know it?"

"I don't know," Neesha answered. "But he does." Hunter settled uneasily back in his chair.

"We've only been gone for three months," he said, reaching for his last defence. "One season. What could possibly happen in one season?"

Quiet descended as they both turned their attention back to the storm outside and silently willed it to stop.

***

## Chapter 1

I've seen some ugly things in the scant twenty-one years I've roamed Hyrule …

Stalfos, Ghoma, Bruiser naked (I learnt the "Knock-before-you-enter-rule" the hard way) …

But this thing pretty much takes the cake.

The Tower of Din rises high enough to make me dizzy if I try and stare at the top of it from this close up, and jutting out from all over it are spiky things and gargoyles and a hundred other little details that just add to the general impression that it's _trying_ to be hideous.

It reminds me in a strong, and unpleasant way of the … renovations that Ganon made to the Golden Palace in Castletown before I changed time.

Then again … there isn't much Agahnim's involved in that _doesn't_ remind me of Ganon.

Nor is this the only affront to Hyrule's general prettiness. There are three of these suckers jutting out of the ground on the borders of Hyrule. The Tower of Din is buried far up in the heart of the mountains, the Tower of Nayru was more or less forced upon the Gerudo and is buried in the Desert, and the Tower of Farore now overshadows Lake Hylia. They're supposed to represent our faithfulness to the Goddesses (I was pretty sure we already had the temples for that, but hey, why _not_ erect hideous, ugly boils on the face of Hyrule and name them after the Goddesses who _created_ Hyrule? What better way to show how much you appreciate their gift?) and to stand as a monument recognizing our dedication to a united Hyrule.

Or so they say.

Personally, I think it's all bullshit, but hey, what do I know?

It's too bad that our path home takes us past it. Those towers are as much a sore spot for me as the stupid diplomatic mission I've spent the last three months on, and it takes everything I have not to let it ruin my mood.

On the upside … once we make it to the other side of the tower's shadow … I'm home!

And I'm never leaving again.

Ever.

Except maybe to visit Termina, because I promised Tatl and Tael and everyone else that I would. Then again, I don't really consider Termina 'away from home' because as far as I'm concerned if I can get to it through a Lost Door it's Hyrule, even if it is a seriously screwed up Hyrule (Gerudo on boats. HA! That'll be the day. Hunter and I can't even get Neesha to go fishing with us). Maybe I'll even _find_ Navi this time.

Maybe …

I let the wave of sudden loneliness wash over me as it always does when I think about Navi and then try and force my mind back to happier things. I'm home. That's a happy thing. I'm home, I'm home, I'm home.

For a minute or two I chant those two words like a mantra, trying desperately to improve my mood …

… to no avail. I'm not going to be happy until I'm firmly entrenched back at the archery shop and in a wrestling match with Hunter over who gets to sleep in the top bunk and I can put my mind at ease and convince myself that everything is okay and Hyrule survived the three months without me.

I'm aware of how arrogant that sounds – Nayru knows Hunter and Neesha have both accused me of it on this subject – but I can't shake the feeling that I never should have left. Last time I left Hyrule alone for any length of time was before I changed time, when Rauru sealed me up in the Sacred Realm for seven years, and that didn't go so well for Hyrule. I suppose you could technically count my escapade in Termina as time away as well, and when I came back from that these goddess damned towers had been erected and it was too late to do anything about them …

Before I can get any further into that particular train of though, however, I find myself staring a glistening white snowball shoved in front of my face. I blink and look over at Hunter, who's grinning at me from under the scarf that's pulled up, over and around his face.

"You looked like you were starting to get pissed off again," he says. "So I figured we might play a little 'Peg the Gerudo'." He's handed off his horse to one of the other members of the group we're with and is holding his own snowball in his free hand. I debate for a moment whether or not I really want to climb out of my funk, but I've been a bastard for the last couple days to just about everybody, and I don't really enjoy it any more than they do. Besides, I'm home. I can relax now, right?

Besides, the idea of nailing Neesha with a snowball is just too good to pass up. I pat Epona's nose and release her reins, taking the snowball instead, then turn and look for the teenaged Gerudo. She's up ahead a bit walking with her horse beside some of the other Gerudo, which is just beautiful. If she was with the Gorons, or the Sheikah they might have helped her retaliate against Hunter and I, but the Zora's are too miserable in the cold to bother, and the Gerudo won't lift a finger against me unless I attack them directly (in which case I get the living daylights beat out of me, but to tell you the truth, it's usually worth it).

Neesha, who has time and again demonstrated a sixth sense when it comes to Hunter and me and mischief, twists around to glare at us through the tiny little slit in her winter gear and calls something that's completely unintelligible – Neesha, for all her bravado and Gerudo toughness, does _not_ enjoy the winter (can't really blame her, what with her having spent her entire life up until three years ago in the desert, but I still think it's funny) and is bundled up so tightly that conversation with her becomes impossible. All that comes out is some random sounds and a lot of 'mmph' syllables, which is more or less what we get now. I smirk at her and toss my snowball from one hand to the other.

"What was that Neesha?" I call. "Couldn't hear you through the scarf. Maybe you should take it off." Hunter packs his snowball down some more. She releases her horse's reins and points at us, shouting something in a nasty tone. I pull my arm back and Hunter does the same and she snarls one syllable that is likely a swear word before trying to move behind her horse for cover. Unluckily for her, her winter gear slows her down considerably and she catches both snowballs in the back then loses her balance in the snow and goes down, face first.

 _Farore_ did that feel good! I can feel my grin widen, just a bit.

Amplissa, one of the Elite Gerudo with us pulls down her white scarf long enough to grin at Neesha, who's picking herself up from the snow.

"You gonna take that from a couple of little boys?" She demands. "And I thought you were a Red." She moves on past Neesha who's got a pile of snow in her hands now as well and is packing it down like a thing possessed.

"You had to show her how to make snowballs, didn't you?" I demand of Hunter. He raises an eyebrow at me as we both start backing up slowly.

"Hey," he says, "I showed her how to make snowballs, yes. But _you're_ the one who taught her to pack them down until they're ice."

"Yeah well, _you're_ the one who –" Neesha nails me in the side of the head with her snow (ice) ball, knocking my hat off. I stumble to the side and give an over exaggerated moan before falling flat on my back. I raise a hand and clutch at my heart.

"I've been hit!" I cry. Hunter rolls his eyes.

"She hit you in the head, not in the heart." I crack open and eye to look at him.

"Shut up, I'm trying to be dramatic here," I say. "Where was I?" He grins down at me.

"You'd been hit."

"Right! I've been hit! Hunter, son of my father's brother, my only living kin –"

"Last I checked _both_ our dads were still alive."

"Last _I_ checked, I told you to shut up. Now listen, it's important and the snow is starting to seep into my coat."

"I love how senseless violence against sixteen-year-old girls cheers you up like nothing else can." I ignore him.

"You have to avenge me!" I cry.

"Avenge you?" He demands.

"Yes, avenge me." I confirm.

"Why?"

"Because we're family you moron, haven't you been listening?" He considers it, then casts a glance over his should at something I can't see from my position.

"Actually, I think I'm just going to shove snow down your back."

"What?" I demand, propping myself up on my elbows. "Why?" He grins at me.

"Because Neesha's on her way over here at three hundred miles an hour and she's more likely to forgive _me_ if I help her be mean to _you_."

"You double-crossing bastard!"

"I'm telling your dad you swore."

"Fine! I can take the both of you!"

The caravan continues moving on past us, more than a few of them rolling their eyes at our antics as the three of us suddenly become entangled in a confused snow melee which generally amounts to me against Neesha with Hunter randomly changing sides whenever he's got an open target on one or the other of us. All we really accomplish is getting soaked through and no one gets seriously hurt (kind of hard to hurt anything when we're all bundled up so thickly a Goron could fall on me and I wouldn't notice) except my hat which got kind of crinkled and abused, but its been through worse.

By the time we're done most of the makeshift caravan as moved on except a couple Elite Gerudo left behind to wait for us (it's a rare day indeed when there's not an Elite within shouting distance of me). Hunter and Neesha each grab a hand and haul me back to my feet. I shake the snow out of my hair and scoop up my battered hat, pulling it back on over my head. I turn around and offer a gloved hand to Neesha as a peace offering.

"Truce?" I offer. She raises an eyebrow at me, then rolls her eyes and storms off toward the other Gerudo, ignoring my hand entirely. Hunter grins.

"I think that's a yes," he translates. I smirk.

"She didn't punch me in the stomach," I say, "that's definitely a yes."

With a laugh we move after her, finally moving out of the shadow of the Tower of Din. A weight I hadn't noticed lifts from my chest as we do so and I breath a sigh of relief.

"Well," Hunter says, shoving his hands into his pockets as we walk. "We're officially back on home soil." I grin at him.

"We are indeed," I say. "And Goddess is it good to be home."

"Hey, listen," he says. "If it's all right with you and Neesha I'm going to split off with the rest of them when the caravan breaks up." I throw him a knowing grin.

"A little impatient to get to Malon?" I ask. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Oh like you're not going to head straight for the palace and certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed princess when you get into Castletown." I turn my gaze forward again.

"You doubted it?" I demand. "Do what you want, man, but if you're not there to fight me for top bunk I get it by default." He makes a derisive noise.

"Only until I get to Castletown. Then you'll forfeit to me."

"I'll forfeit nothing," I reply. "But seriously, if you're going to take off then I think I'll just warp to Castletown once we all split up and head for home."

"Aren't the Elite going to complain?"

"Strenuously," I answer. "But deep down there's not a single one of them who wants to spend any more time than necessary away from the desert and I think I can talk them into heading home without me. All I have to do is promise them that I'll take the heat from Nabooru when I get back. I'll have Neesha anyway, and it's just Castletown. I'm safe there. What could go wrong?" Hunter rolls his eyes.

"I hate it when you say that."

***

The light is failing by the time the group has broken off into individual parties to wind their own ways home. Hunter has headed off with the other Sheikah and the Gorons towards Goron City and Kakariko (as well as the Hylians who will move on past Kakariko to Castletown). The Zora and Gerudo (after much freaking out and yelling about me going off on my own) and split off in their own directions as well, leaving just Neesha and I. She makes a face as I whip out my ocarina and begin slipping my gloves off so I can play it easier.

"Oh relax," I say. "I know you don't like Ocarina travel, but look at it this way, you can spend ten seconds going via ocarina and we arrive safe and warm, or we can trek all the way across Hyrule Field in the winter with the wind and the snow and the cold." She shudders and gestures for me to play, grabbing hold of my arm. "Hang on tight!" I say, then set the flute to my lips. The notes of Prelude to Light drift up on the crisp evening air, travelling far and echoing back.

Just before the final notes fade and Neesha and I are pulled up into the magic, a dark streak tears across the night sky from somewhere behind us and heads toward Castletown.

I blink in surprise but before I can think on it further the magic washes through me and when I'm oriented again, Neesha and I are standing on the platform at the Temple of Time in Castletown. I whirl around to face Neesha who's pulling at the scarf around her mouth.

"Did you see that?" I demand. She finally breaks free of the wool and her eyes narrow.

"Whatever it was it came from the Tower," she answers. She hesitates. "Do you think it's a threat?" I frown.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "Maybe it's nothing." I'd actually been kind of hoping it had been my imagination, but if Neesha saw it too … "You're sure it came from the Tower?"

"It came from that direction," she says. We both frown uncertainly. In the background the unseen choir chants as always. Nothing seems out of place. Nothing feels wrong …

Nothing ever does in here though. This is the one place in all of Hyrule that always feels right …

"Maybe it's nothing," I say after a moment. "I think we're both just getting paranoid. Too long away from home." I cast a paranoid look around. "I'll mention it to the Sages just the same, though."

"All right," Neesha says, nodding. She pulls her scarf back up over her nose. "Let's get to the archery shop then so I can take off all this stuff." I nod and we move to the door, pushing it open and stepping out …

… and right into a ring of spearheads. We stop short and I blink in surprise.

"What the Hell –"

"Link and Neesha of the Gerudo," says the guard standing behind the group of men holding spears pointed at our throats, "you are under arrest in the name of Agahnim, Prince Regent of Hyrule."

I stare at the guards incredulously.

"Welcome home," Neesha mutters.

From worse to Link we go.

***

## A Brief Interlude

Hunter cocked his head to the side and frowned beneath his scarf at the gate to Lon Lon Ranch. It was swinging loosely back and forth in the wind, pushing the snow beneath it into little piles with its motion, giving an eerie little creaking noise every time it did. He shook off the ominous feeling the image left him with and moved up to it anyway. The storm the night before must have simply pulled it from its lock.

But why hadn't the Lon Lon clan re-secured it?

 _They must be cleaning up the rest of the ranch,_ he decided. _If it pulled a gate this sturdy open it probably caused all sorts of damage._ He shook his head. _I hope the animals are all right._

He led his horse into the gate and then moved to do what he could do to keep the gate shut. He paused with his hand half-way there, however, and blinked instead at the mechanism that usually held the gate shut. It was intact. It hadn't been broken. He looked back at the edge of the door. That piece was unbroken as well.

It couldn't have been the wind.

His eyes narrowed and he resisted the urge to jump back on his horse and follow Link and Neesha straight to Castletown.

 _I'm overreacting,_ he told himself calmly. _It's most likely just Talon who forgot to shut it. Nayru knows he's absent minded enough for it. My training's getting the better of me is all._ Nonetheless, he led his horse outside the gate once again and tied him loosely to the tree there. If something _was_ wrong, he'd have an easier time getting away.

 _Not that anything's wrong_. He told himself again, slipping past the gate and resisting the urge to blend into the shadows against the high walls of the ranch. _Link's paranoid ramblings are getting to me, that's all. He's making me as bad as him_. _We've only been gone for three months. One season. And fall, besides. Everybody would have been too busy with the harvest and everything else to cause any trouble. Hyrule's perfectly capable of taking care of itself. It's not going to collapse in on itself just because we left for three months._

A little voice at the back of his mind was quick to point out that they left at the insistence of Agahnim, advisor to the throne.

Agahnim, who was one of the most brilliant politicians Hunter had ever met.

Agahnim, who had been unable to manoeuvre around Link because Link was one of the worse politicians Hunter had ever met.

Agahnim, who had every reason in the world to get Link – and all of Link's allies – out of the kingdom for any length of time.

 _We'd know,_ he assured himself, slowing his pace ever so slightly despite his self assurances. _There's no way we wouldn't know._ Someone _would have said_ something _in their letters. And Agahnim's good, but Zelda's better. She could have kept his ambitions at bay. Besides, what can he do? No matter how powerful an advisor, he's not a member of the royal family. He'll never be King. Zelda's father is still alive and kicking and even if he weren’t, the throne would go to Zelda._

But already his mind was exploring the political avenues and pathways available to a man of Agahnim's position to consolidate power – pathways that were multiplied a hundredfold if one was willing to use less savoury methods. He wouldn't have thought Detsu could have _ever_ taken over the Sheikah, but he hadn't counted on Detsu's underhanded methods. And though Agahnim had never given them any indication that he was capable of such methods, Link refused to put it past him. He said he didn't like Agahnim's eyes.

Hunter had learned long ago to trust Link's instincts on that type of thing.

So he had watched Agahnim like a hawk, but the wizard was careful, and Hunter had never been able to find anything concrete to back up Link's intuition – though not for lack of trying. It didn't help that Agahnim was not, himself, a citizen of Hyrule. The King had brought him back with him from a diplomatic mission beyond the mountains. At any rate, by the time Agahnim had convinced the court that another diplomatic mission was due, now that Hyrule was fully and truly united – and who better to lead the mission than the Heroes of Hyrule themselves? The children who had united Hyrule for the first time in 20 years? – Hunter had been unable to give Link any legitimate reason to turn him down. They had all tried. They had all wracked their brains trying to find a reason short of, "Because I don't want to," but had been unsuccessful. The nobles were far too caught up in it, and Agahnim had even half-convinced some of the Sages. In the end Link had caved in and they had gone.

Hunter had learned that Link was not only a poor politician, he wasn't a very good diplomat, either. Which wasn't to say that he hadn't made allies over there – quite the opposite in fact. If you could survive his temper and sarcasm it was almost impossible to wind up _not_ liking Link. He had a clumsy knack for making just about anyone his friend (one only had to look at the Gerudo, most of whom at the very least tolerated him and at the worst loved him to pieces, to erase any and all doubts of that) – it was just that he didn't do it very diplomatically.

In all, the trip had been as much a success as a diplomatic mission to an already friendly country could be. And every bit as pointless.

 _Maybe Link was right_ , Hunter thought uncertainly to himself. _Maybe Agahnim_ did _just want us out of his –_

He let the thought trail off as he rounded the corner and got his first good look at the ranch. To the untrained eye nothing looked too much out of place. There were no animals in the field, but it was winter, and the field was covered in snow. The animals should all be in the barn. A pristine blanket of snow coated everything, at least a foot thick in some places. The whole scene was peaceful as only winter scenes can be.

But it was the snow that bothered Hunter.

It was too perfect. There were no footprints. It hadn't been cleared off the track, or off the flat roof of the chicken coop at the back of the grounds. It was too quiet as well. No animal sounds could be heard from the barn, and there were no lights on in the house, despite the overcast sky.

It looked as though no one had been here for weeks. It had to have been weeks. It would have taken that long for the snow to accumulate.

He felt a sudden sinking feeling in his gut.

"Malon …." He whirled on a heel and dashed over to the house door, ripping it open and ducking inside. He would have kept going, tearing up the stairs to Malon's room had he not skidded to a halt just inside the door to stare, wide-eyed, at the scene presented to him.

Something had happened. There were two plates set out on the table with food still on them, a third had fallen onto the ground, its contents scattered across the floor. Chairs were overturned and the curtains on the other side had been torn. A dark stain stood out on the wall beside them.

"Blood … oh Goddess …." He wanted to take the stairs two at a time and scream for Malon and Talon and Ingo, but his training kicked in at last and he finally slipped back against the wall, pressing his back to it and eyeing the shadows for threats. He doubted he'd find any – the place had been abandoned for too long – but it didn't hurt to be careful. He crept towards the stairs and forced himself to move slowly up them, avoiding the third step from the top which he knew was squeaky and slipped down the hallway, casting cautious glances into the bedrooms. They each looked as though they had fared worse than the kitchen. Someone had gone through each with a fine-toothed comb and hadn't bothered to put anything back. Malon's was the worst of the lot, though. Her clothes were thrown everywhere, her mattress had been slashed open and the feathers inside were everywhere. Her desk drawers had been dumped out and their contents strewn across the floor (the drawers themselves had been thrown carelessly to land wherever they would). Hunter would have been furious if he hadn't been choking on a sudden overwhelming feeling of dread.

Whoever had done this had been after something. Something Malon had and wouldn't give them from the look of it.

His mind flashed back to the bloodstain on the wall in the kitchen.

 _She's not dead,_ he told himself. _None of them are. There would have been bodies. They wouldn't have gone to the effort of hiding the bodies then not clean up the mess._ He bit back his panic.

_So where are they?_

_What were they after? Did they find it?_

If they didn't … whatever it was, he knew where she would have hidden it.

He turned around and made his way back down the stairs and out the kitchen door, making a beeline for the barn. As he'd suspected the animals were all gone – he assumed stolen since none of the stalls seems damaged in any way – but he wasn't there for the animals. He leapt for the ladder to the hayloft and took the rungs two at a time, scrambling up to the top and moving towards the furthest corner.

He and Malon had a box. It was just a small thing, a little, lopsided wooden jewellery box he had built for her out of boredom one day, but it had served them well. They didn't use it for jewellery, but for special things. Secret notes, little presents, souvenirs from days spent together, and the only two people in Hyrule who knew of its existence were he and she. Not even Link knew about it and Hunter told Link just about everything.

If she'd really wanted to hide something …

She would have put it there.

He all but dove at the corner and dug beneath the straw, feeling at once a sense of relief and longing when his fingers felt the familiar wood, cold from being left in an empty barn for so long.

Whoever they were, they hadn't found it.

The only question, then, was whether or not Malon had gotten the chance to put whatever it was in there.

He pulled it out and dusted the straw off of it before pushing open its lid and surveying its contents. Everything that was normally in there was gone, replaced with a single, delicate pendent, engraved with the symbol of the Triforce, on a long, silver chain, set atop a white envelope with his name on it. He pulled them both out of the box, carefully pocketing the pendent and slipping the box back into its hiding spot before slitting open the envelope. He pulled out the letter and read it quickly, eyes growing narrower with each line, before angrily crushing it in his fist and grinding his teeth.

"Link was right," he hissed to himself. "We never should have left."

He was about to whirl around and to his feet when a tall shadow suddenly fell over him. He froze.

He had been found out.

He hadn't been careful enough.

Someone had laid in wait and he'd just walked right into their hands.

He hesitated only for that brief instant before reacting, throwing his weight onto his hand and lashing out backwards with his foot. The figure sidestepped and grabbed his ankle, twisting it and sending Hunter spinning to the ground. He gasped and rolled over onto his back, staring up at his attacker.

"So that's where she was hiding it," the figure said. "Clever girl. Too bad her beau's losing his touch." He lunged unexpectedly and grabbed the front of Hunter's uniform before he could scramble away, hauling him roughly to his feet.

"Give me the pendent!"


	2. The Part Where you Give me an Excuse to Punch Agahnim in the Face

# Chapter 2

I can feel Neesha tense up beside me, but I hold out a hand to stay any action and squint at the hooded guard.

"Liam, is that you?" I demand. He doesn't answer but I know its him. I know every guard who's ever worked in the palace by face if not by name. "What the Hell is going on here?"

"Please remove your weapons and come peacefully," Liam says, his tone steel. I sweep the area with my eyes. We're trapped on the stairs. They've set up a line in front of us. We could jump the sides, but there are guards down there too.

What's going on? Is this some kind of joke?

"Why are you arresting us? We haven't done anything! Farore! We've been out of the kingdom for the last three months!"

"Gerudo are not permitted within the city walls. Any Gerudo caught in Castletown is to be arrested and thrown in jail."

"What?" I practically shriek. This is news. "On whose authority?"

"Agahnim, Regent of Hyrule." My heart clenches suddenly.

"Regent? Why is he regent? What's happened to Zelda? And King Daphnes?"

"King Daphnes is on his deathbed," says one of the closer guards. I blink and look at him suddenly. "And Zelda is ineligible to rule until she's married." He gives me a meaningful look that I understand all too well.

Don't do anything stupid. Just trust me.

That's what that look says.

I frown, trying to place the guy in my memory. I come up empty. I don't recognize him. He must be new to the city guard.

"You're out of place, soldier," Liam snaps, then turns back to me. "Will you come peacefully?"

I want to say no.

But that guy is begging me not to.

What is going on here?

"Why aren't Gerudo allowed in Castletown anymore? Did they do something? Look, whatever it is, I can sort it out, but you're going to need to let me get back to them."

"No more talking, will you come peacefully or not?"

"I want to speak with Princess Zelda."

"Not unless you come peacefully. Then we'll see if it can be arranged." I glare at Liam for a long moment, painfully aware of the other guard's pleading gaze. I have no idea what's going on, but I suppose I've no options really but to play along. My lips twist into a scowl and I start removing my weapons. Neesha hisses in irritation behind me, but a sharp glare from me is enough to get her to follow suit. I unbuckle my weapons belt and drop it, the twin scimitars on it clanking noisily as I drop them on the snow-covered stairs, followed by my shield, quiver and bow, and my two boot knives. I don't make a move for my pouch. Liam apparently doesn't know what it is, because despite the fact he's frowning as he surveys my weapon collection, it's not the pouch he's after.

"Where's your sword?" He demands. I frown at him.

"They're right there," I say flatly.

"No, the Master Sword." The feeling in my gut that tells me this is all wrong grows worse.

"I haven't got it," I answer. "I didn't want to remove it from Hyrule."

"Where did you leave it?" I cross my arms and shift my weight, narrowing my eyes.

"I'm apparently being arrested because I'm Gerudo. That sword has nothing to do with me being Gerudo," I answer flatly. "And it's nobody's business but mine where I put it. And I won't hand over the Ocarina, either, before you even ask." Liam glares at me for a second, but apparently sees something in my expression that convinces him to let it go.

"Restrain them," he finally says. My scowl darkens as a soldier moves forward to scoop up our weapons and the unfamiliar one moves forward with shackles for me and Neesha. I glare flatly at him, still wracking my brain to try and place him, but he doesn't meet my gaze as he fastens the shackles around my wrist and slides the bolt into place …

… but doesn't lock it. I choke back my surprise before it can show on my face as he moves over and does the same for Neesha.

What in Din's name is going on, here?

Even before the thought finishes processing, I know the answer.

Agahnim. That's what's going on.

I'm going to have a thing or two to say to the wizard when we meet. And it's not going to be pretty. The unfamiliar soldier moves behind Neesha and I with his spear still pointed and gestures us down the steps. Neesha falls into step beside me, her eyes nothing more than slits beneath her hood. I doubt my expression's much happier.

So much for the archery shop. Apparently, I'll be spending tonight in –

"Wait for the signal." I blink in surprise and resist the urge to turn to look at the unfamiliar soldier as the others close ranks around us. He's so quiet I almost can't hear him. "When the time comes Ferran will drop your weapons. Grab what you need and then go." It takes me a moment to process his words, and when I do, I come to a sudden realization.

Ten rupees says he's talking out of the side of his mouth.

A hundred rupees says he's a Sheikah. I know a lot of them, but not all.

I've only been gone three months … why is a Sheikah posing as a city guard? What the Hell has happened while I was gone?

Either way we don't have very long to wait before 'the signal' comes.

Only it's not so much a signal as a blatant attack on our small party.

A familiar battle cry shatters the stillness of the winter evening and before we quite know what's happening three Gerudo are ripping into the soldiers and shattering spears as they go. Neesha and I react instantly, breaking out of the shackles and diving for our weapons which, just as the guy said, have been dropped by Ferran. I grab my quiver first – I can replace every other weapon in that pile, but I can't replace the three magic arrows – and then a scimitar, but that's all I have time for because Liam is ripping down at me at three hundred miles an hour. He doesn't make it to me, however. The stranger gets in the way first, Ferran backing him up.

"Come on, Highness!" Shouts a familiar voice before I can move to their aid. "They know what they're doing. Let's go." Nabooru wraps her fist in my coat and all but throws me the other way. For what's probably the first time in my life I listen to her. I have no idea what's going on, and as such it's probably not a good idea for me to be messing with the plan. The other two Gerudo each pair up with either the stranger or Ferran and then split up from each other, heading in different directions from us. I can hear confused shouting from Liam and the other soldiers. No one is sure which way we went. They'll have to split up to chase us, assuming they don't just give up on the chase and find some other way of tracking us. Nabooru, however, is wasting no time on zigzagging or leaving a misleading trail. She leads us straight to the marketplace, continuing on at the dead run we've been moving at since we escaped the guards.

I'm suddenly very glad for all the training she's put me through over the last few years. Three years ago I never would have been able to keep up with her, and that, when you're hanging out with Gerudo, is bad.

I feel a sudden, intense wave of homesickness when we leave behind the fresh snow on the streets and head into the packed down snow of the Marketplace. Just ahead of us is the Archery Shop. I hadn't realized just how much I missed it. We pause only for a heartbeat to make sure no one's around before bolting for the shop. The door opens before we even get to it and Nabooru starts shoving us in.

"Bruiser!" I gasp as we stumble into the shop. "What the Hell—"

"No time for chit-chat, kid," he snaps. "Take Neesha and get upstairs. Go to the wall behind your bunk bed. Push on the end near the foot of the bed. It'll slide back. Get in there and don't so much as breathe. Is Hunter with you?"

"No, he's gone to the Ranch …"

"Damn that boy," Bruiser growls. "How did I know he'd complicate things."

"Bruiser, what's—"

"I thought I told you to go!"

Not bothering to disguise a frustrated growl, I turn and rip up the stairs.

"Nice to see you alive and well, too, Bruiser," I can't help but call bitterly back at him.

Farore I hate not knowing what's going on. Neesha's swearing a blue streak behind me, no doubt experiencing the same frustration. We tear into our room, unable to even enjoy the pleasant familiarity of it after so long sleeping in strange rooms. Neesha squeezes between the wall and the bed and pushes on the other wall where Bruiser said to. It slides back to reveal a hollowed-out compartment.

"That wasn't there when we left," Neesha points out ominously. "Link, something's gone seriously wrong."

"Gee, ya think?" I say caustically as we both slip behind the wall and slide it shut again, leaving us wrapped up in darkness. It's a bit cramped but not too uncomfortable. For a long moment all we can hear is the sound of our panting as we desperately try and calm our breathing down and the quiet murmur of Bruiser and Nabooru talking downstairs. The murmur quits after a moment and two seconds later I hear the bedroom door creak open.

"You kids safe in there?" I consider pointing out for a moment that technically I'm not a kid anymore, and technically neither is Neesha (13 being the age of maturity among the Gerudo), but before I can Nabooru continues. "Listen, I can't stay. We've blown our cover now and I have to find the other girls and get out of here before they send the army after us. Bruiser will explain everything in a bit, but for now you need to stay in there and stay quiet. They're going to come looking for you, and this is one of the first places they'll look."

"Is everyone all right?" I demand. "Is Zelda okay?"

"Zelda's … fine," Nabooru answers. "She's not hurt if that's what you mean. I won't lie to you though, she's in a considerable amount of danger at the moment." I bite my tongue to stem the flow of questions I have.

"Where's Dad?"

"Brayden is fine. We figured one of you or all of you might head for the Ranch first so Brayden headed over there to head you off as soon as we realized you were back. Bruiser and I have been waiting for you here."

"How did you know we were back?"

"Zelda sensed you as soon as you set foot in Hyrule and let us know. Look, I can't talk. I'm glad the two of you made it back. I'll see you back home soon enough. Link, where are your bodyguards?"

"I sent them home," I answer, daring her to freak out at me for it. "We were back in Hyrule. I sort of figured I was safe." Nabooru makes an annoyed noise that I'm all too familiar with.

"What the Hell good is it, assigning Elite to you if you won't keep them with you?"

"What was that, Nabooru? I'm kind of locked behind a wall. Things are kind of muffled."

"I'm going to beat your ass good for this one, Link. Hyrule's not safe, anymore. Neesha," she says, steel in her tone, "your life for his, understand?"

"I'll get him home safe, Nabooru," Neesha replies, steel in hers as well. I roll my eyes.

"I'm still here, you know," I point out. Nabooru doesn't answer. She's already gone. I twist myself sideways and slide down against the wall so I can sit down and heave a long-suffering sigh.

"May as well get comfortable, Neesha. It's going to be a long night."

***

Neesha and I tumble out of the secret compartment as Bruiser slides the door back.

"Oh my Goddess, I thought they'd find us for sure…" I gasp, falling limply on the bed. Nearly a dozen soldiers came banging on the door about an hour ago and then proceeded to turn the place upside down in an attempt to find us. More than once they came close to the wall. I don't think I've ever held my breath that long in my life.

"Are you sure they're gone?" Neesha demands, casting a paranoid look at the window as she clambers over the bottom bunk to the floor on the other side. I pull my legs up and out of the compartment so Bruiser can shut it again. Bruiser raises an eyebrow at her.

"Do I look like some wet-behind-the-ears teenager two days past his _Quisros_?" He demands.

"Bruiser, no offence, but you don't even look like a Sheikah," I point out. "What took you so long to let us out? Liam and his tag-alongs left an hour ago!"

"And they left a sentry in the alley across the street to watch the shop. It took him that long to decide that I honestly wasn't hiding you guys before heading off." He heads out the door. "Come on downstairs. I'll make you guys something to eat and we can fill each other in."

"I've been gone for three months, and all I get is a 'come on downstairs?' I don't even get a hug?" I demand after him, pushing myself to my feet.

"You just spent three hours shoved into a tiny little compartment in your winter gear. You smell awful. I'm not touching you until you clean up." I smirk at Neesha.

"I think he missed us." She returns the smirk as we shed our aforementioned winter gear before heading down after him. He's already busy at the stove by the time we get down there. Neesha and I settle into our accustomed seats and watch him for a moment as he pulls out ingredients and utensils and starts heating up the stove.

"All right," he says, after a moment, "you guys first." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Our trip was long, pointless and boring," I say.

"Link punched out one of the –" I punch her in the arm.

"You swore you wouldn't mention that!" I hiss. She glares at me.

"That was _before_ you and Hunter took every opportunity to nail me with some form of snow."

"Did you find any trace of Navi?" Bruiser cuts in before the fight can degenerate any further. The fact that he didn't immediately demand to know who I punched out and why tells me he's not really listening to us. He's preoccupied. I look down at the table suddenly and shake my head with a sigh.

"Half of them looked at me like I was crazy for talking about fairies."

"Sorry, kid," Bruiser says. "I know you were hoping." I shrug and lean back in my chair.

"I wasn't really expecting to find anything out there," I say. Which is true. I've scoured Hyrule (and Termina) looking for her, to absolutely no avail, so it seemed logical to branch out, but I didn't really put much stock into the idea. "I lost her on my way back in Time. It'll be more complicated that that."

"Don't give up hope, Link," Bruiser says. "Navi's a tough little thing. She'll find her way back to you."

"Hey, who said anything about giving up?" I demand, forcing a smile. "Navi's my best friend, I'm not giving up on her." Nobody says it, but we're all thinking it:

Giving up or not, I’m running out of options …

"So," Neesha says, catching a glimpse of my expression, "are you going to tell us why Gerudo are now on the Hylian hit list?" I turn my face to look at Bruiser, who takes a moment to finish stirring his batter before pausing and shaking his head.

"I've got a lot of news," he says darkly, "and none of it good. These have been the longest three months I can remember, and I've lived through my fair share of seasons." He pours some of the batter onto the pan on the stove.

"Start at the beginning," I say thickly, suddenly not quite sure I want to know anymore. "From when we left, and go from there." We sit quietly and watch him while he collects his thoughts.

"Link, you were right about Agahnim," he says finally. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you. There's an old saying … though claws grow dull and teeth fall out, and old wolfos is a wolfos still." Neesha wrinkles her nose.

"That's not Sheikan, it's Gerudo. And it's not wolfos, it's lizalfos."

"Well then the Gerudo stole it from the Sheikah, and it's wolfos."

"No, it's –"

"Whatever it is, the point is made," I interrupt, rolling my eyes.

They do this _all_ the time. They'll go on for days if you let them.

There are apparently a lot of crossovers between Sheikan and Gerudo sayings and they will each defend theirs to the death. "Can we get to the part where you give me an excuse to punch Agahnim in the face. Besides the fact I don't like it." I pause. "His face, that is." Bruiser rolls his eyes at Neesha's huffy look and shakes his head.

"By the time I'm through, Link, you're going to want to do a lot worse than punch his face." He flips the first of the pancakes over. "The King is sick – apparently on his deathbed. This is what Agahnim is telling us, and has been since nearly the day after you left. Nobody can get near him to confirm it."

"Zelda?"

"Agahnim won't let her in to see him. He started denying her access about a month ago. Said it upset the King too much to see her and it was better for both of them to just wait until the King was healed."

"Who's healing him?"

"Agahnim."

"That's what I thought."

"And it also explains why the King has only gotten worse, again, assuming he's sick at all."

"Or even still alive," I mutter under my breath. I hate to say it – King Daphnes is a great man. I met him for the first time a couple years back and I could see how he managed to convince the races to let go of the Great War and call a truce – but the way Agahnim works it's a definite possibility. He's had Daphnes' ear since the first day I met him and that's not conducive to long and healthy life.

"At any rate," Bruiser says, gesturing with a batter covered spoon, "Agahnim announced that the King was sick and unable to rule, and when Zelda stepped up to rule in his stead, Agahnim whips out some obscure law from forever ago that's been long forgotten saying that Zelda can't assume control of the kingdom in any way, shape, or form until she's married." I frown darkly.

"But Hyrule's had plenty of Queens without Kings," I say. "Farore, Zelda's been grooming for just that since the day she was born!"

"Like I said, the law was forgotten," Bruiser said. "It's obsolete, but it was never stricken from the record."

"So why follow it now?" Neesha demands. "It doesn't make any sense. Even if it's the law, Agahnim would have to have the support of –"

"The nobles," Bruiser finishes. "And he does. A large portion of them. More than enough to veto the vote Zelda no longer has. She's effectively powerless."

"So Agahnim stepped in and took the reins of power," I say, pressing a hand to my temple. "I suppose he voided the treaty with the Gerudo, then."

"Almost immediately," Bruiser answered. "He gave any Gerudo in the city – not that there were many since you weren't here – twenty-four hours to get out of Castletown or he'd have them arrested. He's currently trying to extend the no-Gerudo-zone to all of Hyrule."

"He can't do that!" I cry. "Regent or no! Something like that would need the King's seal!"

"And he had it," Bruiser says. "Showed it to everyone. He controls the king, now, remember?"

"What about the Sages? They couldn't stop him?" I demand. Bruiser shakes his head.

"Agahnim's a snake, Link. He's not playing fair. He's technically done nothing wrong politically and we can't prove he's done anything wrong otherwise. The Sages' hands are effectively tied."

"Goddess _dammit_!" I cry, slamming my fist on the table. "How did this happen, Bruiser? How did he … how could he …"

"I'm not done," Bruiser says. Neesha stares blankly at him.

"There's more?" She demands.

"Lots more," Bruiser answers. "Right about the point when he nullified the treaty, people started going missing. Most of them important in one way or another. All except one of them kids." My brain immediately runs through the list of important children I know. I feel a sudden sinking feeling in my gut.

"No," I hiss. "Don't tell me this …"

"Link of the Gorons, Laruto of the Zora, and Saria of the Kokiri." I stare at him, unable to comprehend what he's just told me.

"Missing? How?" Neesha demands. Bruiser's expression grows darker.

"Kidnapped. Taken by force. Acqul had his arm broken trying to save his daughter. Darunia didn't even see Link go missing. He went in to wake him up one morning and he was gone. They've scoured the mountains looking for him. He's just gone."

"And Saria?" Neesha asks.

"The Kokiri say they saw lights from her house one night. They all ran over to see what was going on, but by the time they got there she was gone too."

"She used her powers," I murmur. "What could have been bad enough she'd have to use her powers?"

"Can't the Sages track her down?" Neesha demands. Bruiser shrugs.

"They've tried!" He says. "But they can't find her. They can't even sense her anymore. Wherever she is, it's not in Hyrule."

"Who's taking them?" Neesha asks. "Is it Agahnim?" I look up before he can answer and interrupt.

"You said one of them wasn't a kid," I point out. "Who's the fourth?" Before he can answer, the door bursts open suddenly and slams against the wall. All three of us whirl around and to our feet, hands going for weapons, but we freeze when we recognize the people coming in.

"Hunter?" I say. He looks like he wants to strangle someone. "What is it?"

"They've taken Malon!" He cries. "They've done something with her!" Behind him a familiar figure slips in through the door and slides it shut.

"Hunter, calm down," my Dad says. "Lower your voice. I didn't smuggle you in here just to have you give yourself away by announcing your presence at the top of your lungs, now did I?"

"You found him," Bruiser notes, the relief in his eyes belying the gruffness of his tone.

"Yes, I found him," Brayden answers. "Your son's getting careless, Bruiser. I was right behind him before he realized I was there." Hunter slips out of his coat and frowns darkly.

"I was distracted," he mutters. "Pardon me if the blood on the wall of my girlfriend's house kind of threw me off my game. You didn't have to scare the living daylights out of me, like that. Not so much as a hello, just a 'Give me the pendant!'" Dad rolls his eyes.

"You weren't the only one distracted, all right?"

"You've got the pendant?" Bruiser says, staring at Brayden in surprise. Dad smirks and pulls a delicate medallion on a long silver chain out of his shirt.

"She managed to hide it but good," he replies. "But we've got it, and they don't, and at last something has gone right." He moves around the fuming Hunter and embraces me.

"Good to see you home, son," he says, ruffling my hair beneath my hat. I offer him a weak grin and straighten out my hat as he moves over to offer the same to Neesha, but she ducks under his hug. He grins at her and tugs her ponytail instead. "You too, Shadow." She offers him a flat glare, but everyone in the room knows she's pleased at the attention.

They do that all the time too.

"What's going on?" I demand as Dad moves over to the stove to peer into Bruiser's bowl. "Who's taken Malon?" I wince suddenly when I connect Hunter's outburst with the conversation I'd been having with Bruiser. "Oh no …"

"'Fraid so, kiddo," Bruiser says, smacking Dad's hand with his wooden spoon to get him out of the bowl. "Hunter, pull up a seat." Hunter obeys, grabbing the chair beside me, then burying his face in his arms. Bruiser casts him a sympathetic glance then goes back to his story.

"Malon's the fourth one to go missing. It happened two weeks ago. Talon tried to prevent them from taking her, but …" He shook his head. "They stabbed him in the arm and took off with Malon before he could do anything else. They took the animals, too, then ransacked the place. He and Ingo are holed up in Kakariko right now. Anju's putting them up."

"Who are 'they'?" Neesha demands. "Someone has to have seen them. You said Acqul and Talon fought them. What do they look like? Who are they?" Dad and Bruiser exchange a dark look, but before either of them can answer, Hunter does it for them.

"They're Sheikah," he says, his words muffled by the position of his face. "Talon and Acqul recognized one of them." I frown.

"Who was it? One of Detsu's old camp?" Hunter retreats further into his arms and refuses to answer me. I frown.

"Not this time, Link," Dad says softly. He hesitates for a moment more, then shakes his head dismally. "It was Thomas." He sighs. "Sorry son. I know you didn't want to hear that." I gape incredulously at him.

"What?" I choke. "Thomas? Dune's Thomas?" Bruiser nods.

"He went missing a couple months ago. We originally thought he was one of the kidnapped. Apparently, he's one of the kidnappers."

"No. No, there has to be some mistake!" I say. "Thomas is … why would he do that? He hasn't got any reason to do that! He's a friend! Nayru! He loved Malon almost as much as we did! And he and Goron Link have been close ever since the rebellion at Kakariko! He'd never hurt them!" I shake my head and push my chair back from the table, crossing my arms. "No. It doesn't make sense. It's a mistake. Thomas wouldn't have had any part in that."

"Talon swears it was Thomas," Dad insists. "I've never seen him that serious about anything in his life, Link. You know what Talon's like. Ingo too. And then there's Acqul. I'd be tempted to side with you if it weren't for Acqul. Three eyewitnesses swear it was Thomas." I continue to shake my head. Dad sighs and lets it go.

"At any rate, whether or not you believe it, Bel and Mel did and they've both disappeared now, too."

"Kidnapped?" I demand.

"Nope. Ran away," Dad answers. "Left behind letters. They said they were going to look for Thomas."

"Farore," I hiss. "Who just takes off and leaves a note like that?" Hunter raises his head and I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he and Neesha are both glaring flatly at me. I roll my eyes. "That was _different_! Nayru. I thought you'd forgiven me for that."

"Might have if you hadn't gotten yourself killed because of it," Neesha mutters darkly. I ignore them.

"Why Malon?" I demand. "I understand why Link, Saria and Laruto might be tempting kidnapping targets, but why Malon? She isn't royalty of any sort. She's not even rich. What could they possibly want her for? She's not important."

"If she was here to hear you say that she'd kick your ass," Hunter mutters. I frown at him.

"You know what I mean," I say. "What's the connection between her and the others?"

"She had the pendant," Hunter said. "Maybe they wanted that. Obviously they wanted that. Maybe, when they couldn't find it, they took her hoping they could get her to tell them where it was." His face goes pale suddenly when he realizes the implications of that, and he hisses under his breath. "Farore …" He buries his face again.

"If it makes you feel any better," Dad says, spinning a chair around and sitting down backwards on it, "I don't think they took her for the pendant." Hunter turns his head to the side and peers at Dad through one eye.

"Why not?" He asks.

"She's been gone for two weeks, Hunter," he answers. "Malon's a tough girl, but nobody's that tough. If that was all they wanted out of her, we wouldn't have the pendant right now." Hunter nods slowly but he doesn't look all that much happier.

"So what are we going to do about it?" I demand. "Do we know where they're being kept?" Dad hesitates for a long moment, idly rolling the pendant back and forth on the tablecloth before answering.

"Dune and I have been assigned to the disappearances," he answers finally. "Well … Dune volunteered, and I was assigned. She's … desperate to find Thomas and prove his innocence." I wince.

"Did Acqul –"

"They're no longer on speaking terms," Dad says with a sigh. "They've both got a child at stake and tempers run high in cases like that." I rest my head on my hand and give a disgruntled sigh.

"Do you know how hard it was to make those generals get along?" I grumble. "Do you have any idea what I went through to make the four of them friends?" I rub my face tiredly with my free hand. "Let me guess. Rue has sided with Dune and Karun's sided with Acqul." Dad sighs.

"Well," he says, "Karun and Rue are generally staying out of it. Karun's not voicing whatever opinion he might have, and Rue is voicing the opinion that they're both being stupid about it, but in general, yes, you've drawn the battle lines correctly." Neesha mutters something under her breath.

"Well at least they didn't fall back on the old Great War alliances," she says.

"They still fell back on alliances," I mutter. "And that's bad."

"We're digressing," Hunter points out. "Did you and Dune find out anything?" Dad scratches his head.

"Yes and no," he answers with a helpless shrug. "We couldn't find a trace of Laruto, but we tracked the other three to the Golden Palace."

"Easy enough then," Hunter says, straightening. "We just break into the palace and … why are you shaking your head?" Dad sighs.

"Because they're not there, Hunter," he answers. "Believe me. We looked. We _did_ break into the palace. All the way down to the dungeons. We turned the place upside down and didn't find a trace of them. The trail ends there."

"What about Saria?" I ask. "Couldn't the Sages …"

"They did," Dad answers. "They were aware of her up until she got to the palace. Then she just … disappeared. They couldn't sense her anymore."

"At the palace?" I ask.

"Yes," Dad confirms.

"She just disappeared?" I ask.

"Yes," Dad confirms.

"Black magic," I say flatly. "It has to be. Dark Link used to do a disappearing act all the …" I'm immediately sorry I mentioned it, though, when I notice an all-too-familiar haunted look cross my father's face. Back when he'd first been freed from Dark Link's influence it didn't take much at all to make that expression cross his face, and once it was there it would stay there. He still won't talk about the time he spent as Dark Link, but I see that expression a lot less now and it kills me when it comes back. "I'm sorry," I say immediately. "I didn't mean …" He waves me off and takes a deep breath.

"'S all right," he says quickly. "I'm fine. Little flashback is all." I offer him a smile.

"I can relate," I say. He returns the smile then shakes his head.

"At any rate, what … Dark Link did was different than what's happening here. That was just … I don't know it was like … teleporting, or something. We didn't really disappear, we just … moved. It's not … it wasn't …" He makes a face. Bruiser piles some fresh pancakes onto a plate and passes them over to us, squeezing Dad's shoulder on the way, then immediately starts in on another batch. I frown and shake my head.

"Then what could do that? Make them disappear like that?" Dad raises an eyebrow at me.

"You say it like I've ruled out Black Magic," he says. "As a matter of fact I'm ninety percent _sure_ it was black magic. I just don't know what he's doing with them."

"Who?" Neesha demands.

"Agahnim," Dad and I say at the same time. "It has to be," I add.

"Apparently Ganondorf used to do similar things with prisoners," he adds. "I quizzed the Gerudo about it –," I wince before he can finish. I know what's coming next, "– and I earned myself more than one black eye asking." I give an exasperated sigh.

"Why didn't you just leave it to Nabooru?" I demand, frowning at him. "Dammit, Dad, I _warned_ you about asking the Gerudo questions like that! They're touchy about it to begin with and to top it off, they don't like you!"

"I'm aware, son," he says in a pained voice. "Painfully aware as a matter of fact. And I _tried_ to leave it to Nabooru, but she was mad at me for something or other and made me do it myself." I stare flatly at him.

"What did you do to Nabooru?" I demand. "Why is it every time I leave you alone with the Gerudo for more than do seconds you do something?"

"Nothing!" He cries. "I didn't do _anything_! Why do you always assume it was me?" I frown doubtfully at him.

"Because it always _is_ ," I answer. "You're worse than me, for Nayru's sake, and I _try_ to piss them off."

"Goddess dammit, you're as bad as your mother!" He cries, hitting the table with him palm and glaring flatly at me.

"Well at least I'm better than you," I return, glaring back at him.

"Home for less than a day and already the two of you are ready to kill each other," Bruiser mutters, rolling his eyes and dropping a second plate of pancakes onto the table. "Now quit fighting. And everybody had better start eating, or my feelings are going to hurt." We all turn to stare incredulously at him – nobody feels like eating at the moment – but his glare is steel, and we all exchange a glance then head for our plates.

Some things never change.

For a long moment, despite the fact nobody, probably not even Bruiser, wants to eat, that's all we do, each of us idly putting fork to mouth (or pushing food around our plates) and getting lost in our own thoughts as we try and process everything we've just heard.

I've still got so many questions. Too many questions. But I force them down with the pancakes and try to collect my thoughts before we start the conversation up again.

Farore, this is hard to get my head around. Too much information and too little sleep.

Malon, Saria, Laruto, and Goron-Link have been captured.

Thomas is working for the bad guys.

King Daphnes is dying.

Zelda's been stripped of her political clout.

Acqul and Dune are fighting.

The treaty with the Gerudo is null and void (Nayru they're going to be ripping mad about that).

Agahnim has effectively taken over Hyrule …

Farore …

I never should have left.

I _never_ should have _left_.

If I'd been here … I could've done something. I could've … I could've stopped it somehow. I could've saved the others. I could've … I could've …

But I did. I did leave. I shouldn't have – I _knew_ I shouldn't have – but I did, and short of taking a trip back in Time and redoing everything – which I can't, that would make things worse – there's nothing to do but set it right again.

"So basically," I say, breaking the silence as I push my now soggy, uneaten pancakes around my plate the way I usually do with Leevers, "our mission is twofold. First off, we find out where they're keeping Malon and the others and then we stage a big, elaborate rescue to get them back. Then, secondly, we find Agahnim and I wreak some Hero of Time vengeance upon his sorry hide." I look up. "Simple enough, right?"

"Assuming what Agahnim's done with Malon and the others doesn't involve killing them," Hunter murmurs quietly. I frown down at him, but Neesha takes it a step further by leaning across be and stabbing him in the thigh with my fork. He yelps and shoves himself back and away from us, almost falling off his chair. He glares at me. "What the Hell are you –"

"It wasn't me!" I say, pushing my chair back so he can glare at Neesha.

"You sounded like you were starting to feel sorry for yourself," she says flatly, brandishing her fork at him. "And you were getting pessimistic. You want to not give up on them right off the bat like that?" He frowns at her and rubs his thigh.

"I wasn't giving up!" He cries angrily. "I was just saying! It's a possibility we have to consider!"

"We don't know anything, so we can't consider anything yet," Neesha says flatly. "If you start thinking like that now you'll never see Malon again, so how about you cheer the Hell up and stop sulking." She makes a face. "You're such a baby." Hunter opens his mouth to continue the argument but Bruiser steps in.

"Hunter, shut up. Neesha's making sense. Neesha, stab anybody with a fork again, ever, and you'll be eating that fork."

"Whatever," she says flatly, turning back to her pancakes. Dad clears his throat and we return our attention to him.

"Neesha's right about not giving up," he says hesitantly, "but … it's not going to be as easy as you're making it sound, Link."

"What's hard?" I demand. "Agahnim's into the black magic. I've sort of made something of a career of dealing with people like that. Look at Detsu. I'll just do to Agahnim, what I did to Detsu." Dad's got a sour expression on his face all of a sudden.

"Sure," he says, "but you had the Master Sword when you did that." My heart skips a beat at his tone.

"So what?" I demand, frowning. "It's a hop, skip and a jump by Ocarina to the Lost Woods. I left it in the Pedestal by the Great Deku Tree. I'll grab it, then hop, skip and jump my way back here." Hunter's picked up on Dad's expression now as well and his frown is as dark as my own.

"What now?" He demands. "What is it?" Dad runs a hand through his hair and then shakes his head.

"I suppose there's no right way to phrase bad news, so I'll just give 'er. Agahnim moved right after you left to try and steal the sword," he says darkly. "We didn't try to stop him because we figured it was safe. Nobody but you can take it out of the pedestals once its in there, so we didn't think it was in any danger." I drop my fork onto my plate and stare at him blankly.

"Dad, what are you saying? What did he do to my sword?"

"Nothing, as per se," he says with a sigh. "Like I said, he couldn't touch it. I'm sure he tried. I'm sure he tried everything he could think of to get it out of there."

"Did he hurt anyone?" I demand in a rush. "The Kokiri? The Deku Tree?"

"They're fine," Bruiser says. "He didn't touch them. They didn't even see him. The Deku Tree did but he didn't harm it. Handed him some bull about being concerned for the Sword's safety and he wanted to take it back to the palace." I breathe a sigh of relief.

"So what did he do?" Neesha demanded. "If he couldn't take it, what did he do to it?"

"He apparently decided that if he couldn't have it, nobody would," Dad answers. "He put a magical barrier around it. He's sealed it off to everybody. You included, Link." I shake my head slowly, suddenly feeling sick.

"The Sages …"

"Can't get into it. Not even Zelda. It's not made of black magic – the Master Sword would never have stood for that – just normal magic." I swallow my panic and shake my head.

"Dad …," I say slowly, "if I haven't got that sword, I can't use the pedestals. It's my one advantage over evil wizards. It's going to make fighting Agahnim damn near impossible!"

"I know," Dad says in a placating tone, making a soothing gesture with his hands. "I know, Link. And so does Agahnim. That's why he wanted it. To keep it away from you. But keep in mind what I said earlier, Link. Every cage has a key, and the cage around the Master Sword is no different." He holds up the pendant and it spins, catching the light along its edges for a moment. The medallion itself is some kind of smooth stone of a deep blue colour. Not the same shade as the colour of Time, but close. A golden Triforce is engraved in relief on one side of it. "This is the Pendant of Wisdom," he says. "The Gerudo stole it from the Tower of Nayru and managed to get it to Malon, before she was captured …" His voice trails off. I swallow thickly.

"It cost them, didn't it?" I demand. "What did it cost them?"

"Two Elites and a Red died," he answers. "I don't know their names."

"Teora, Lani, and Shoore," Hunter says heavily. I look at him and he shrugs without meeting my gaze. "Malon left me a letter." Well that explains his apocalyptic mood. The nauseous feeling I had before grows worse.

"How?" I ask. Dad shakes his head.

"We're not sure," he answers. "Killed by something in the tower. One of the Elite made it out with the pendant and handed it off to the Red. She ran it to Malon, but Agahnim's agents hunted her down before she could get back to the desert."

"Why didn't they just take it back to the fortress?" Neesha demands, frowning darkly. "It would have been safe there." Dad shakes his head.

"There's no guarantee Agahnim hasn't got agents in the fortress as well. And besides, that was one of the first places they'd look for it. They knew Malon was safe, and of all the places we could have hidden in it in Hyrule, Lon Lon Ranch was probably the last place on the list."

"But they did know she had it," Hunter says darkly. "They ripped the Ranch apart looking for it."

"They tracked it back to her after they killed the Red and realized she didn't have it," Bruiser answers with a sigh. "We were afraid for a while that they'd taken it as well as Malon, but she's a resourceful little thing, apparently."

"What does it do?" I ask, reaching out for the pendant. Dad slips it into my palm. It's cool to the touch and heavier than I thought it would be.

"On its own?" Dad says with a raised eyebrow. "It looks pretty. That's about it. You'll need three of these to break the spell around the Master Sword."

"Three?" I demand. "Farore."

"Not taking any chances, is he?" Neesha mutters, reaching out for the medallion.

"Let me guess," Hunter mutters. "If this is the Pendant of Wisdom, found in the Tower of Nayru, then we'll find the Pendant of Courage at Lake Hylia in the Tower of Farore, and the Pendant of Power in the mountains at the Tower of Din, correct?"

"According to our sources, that would be correct," Bruiser confirms.

"All right," I say, rubbing my temple wearily with one hand, "before we start putting together any harebrained schemes to save Hyrule, what harebrained schemes have already been put into play?" Bruiser snorts.

"Harebrained is your territory, kid," he says. "And schemes are his." He jabs his fork at Hunter. "What _has_ been put into play are valid plans of action." Dad rolls his eyes at Bruiser.

"What your Uncle is trying to say," he cuts in, "is that we've done everything we can in the open – which isn't much – and behind the scenes we've been running around like crazy pulling strings and calling in favours and setting up a safety net in the event … well, in any event. We're not sure what Agahnim's ultimate goal is, but whatever it is, it's not going to be good and we'll have to be ready for anything."

"We've mobilized the Sheikah," Bruiser adds. "We've called back our out-of-country agents. We need anonymity now more than ever and Agahnim knows the normal palace Sheikah too well. We've infiltrated the Hylian guard and the palace staff." He glances at me. "There are two undercover Sheikah near Zelda at all times, kid, so you can relax about that, and Impa's hardly left her side."

"We've also made contact with Zora and Gorons we know to be clean of Agahnim's influence. Acqul and Karun, for example, as well as others. The Gerudo are ready to move at your word if they have to, but that's nothing new. You're going to have a job when you get to the desert, by the way," he adds. "They're all offended about the nullifying of the treaty and they're taking it personally. Nabooru's had her hands full fighting a resurgence of anti-Hyrule sentiment."

"But even with all of that," Hunter says, "all you've done is prepare. You haven't taken any action."

"We can't," Bruiser answers. "We can't touch Agahnim, first off. He's too popular, among _all_ the races, except the Gerudo. He's also kept his hands clean. The only thing he's done wrong is to seal up your sword, and the few who know about that believe his story about protecting it from enemies." I cross my arms and narrow my eyes.

"Fine," I say flatly. "Then he'll _have_ to give it back to me when I ask him for it. If he doesn't his story is useless."

"Well sure," Dad says, "but how are you planning on asking him for it when you'll be arrested on sight? You're Gerudo, remember?"

"Ah, ah," Hunter says, raising a finger, "he's Sheikan too. A dual citizen if you will. There's got to be something in the law that will let him stay in Hyrule."

"No doubt," Dad answers. "But it would take us a while to find it, and in the meantime, he's wracking up resisting arrest charges, fleeing from the law, _and_ he's assaulted the city guard."

"I did not," I say, offended. "I didn't throw a single hit. The Gerudo and those two Sheikah – Ferran and someone – did all the assaulting."

"Agahnim will twist it," Dad says with a dismissive wave. "He'll also have assassins down on you before you can blink. Link, I know you don't want to hear this, but you're going to have to lay low for a while. All three of you are."

"What? Why me?" Hunter demands. "I'm not Gerudo!"

"You're friends with them," Bruiser answers, gesturing at Neesha and me. "Agahnim wants Link out of the picture, and he won't hesitate to use you against him if he can get you." Hunter glares at him.

"If they've got Malon," he says flatly, "I'm not just going to sit here and …"

"You'll do as you're told, Hunter," Bruiser cuts him off, his voice hard and unmoving. "You all will." Hunter gets to his feet suddenly and glares at Bruiser across the table.

"You can't just –!"

"And just what are you planning on doing for Malon?" Bruiser demands before he can finish. "Hmm? Do you know where she's being held? Do you know how to track her down? What can you do that the rest of us who've spent the last three months working on it can't?" He glares at Hunter. "Sit down, boy, before you say something you'll regret later." Hunter grinds his teeth and for a moment he looks like he has every intention of flipping right out, but he suddenly drops back into his chair and glares stonily at the centre of the table.

"Home for less than a day and already the two of you are ready to kill each other," Dad mutters under his breath. I catch his eye and raise an eyebrow at him.

Apparently, some things run in the family.

"Look," Bruiser says stiffly, "I know you're upset. I know you're all upset. This is a lot to come home to, but for _once_ in your lives would you just _trust_ us. We've got people out looking for Malon and the others. They have been since they went missing. We've got people trying to get the other two pendants back. The Sages are watching everything in Hyrule like a hawk. We're on it, all right? Would it kill you to do as you're told for once?" None of us answer. All three of us stare back impassively, likely wearing the exact same _I-promise-nothing_ expression. But on the other hand none of us argue which is likely more than they expected to get out of us because both he and Dad sigh in what's more or less a relieved manner.

"All right," Dad says, standing up and moving his plate over to the sink. "That's enough for tonight. Whatever questions you've got left can wait until tomorrow on the road."

"On the road?" Neesha demands.

"We're packing you off to the desert," Bruiser answers, handing Brayden his plate then reaching for ours. "As far away from Agahnim as possible." Hunter looks like he's about to complain again but I nudge him sharply with my elbow when Bruiser's back is turned, then glare at him and shake my head.

In the desert, I'm literally King.

If we decide we want to do something about anything there will be no one there to stop us.

Figuratively anyway.

Either way, it's easier to weasel my way around the Gerudo than it is to weasel my way around our dads. Especially mine. I get the feeling he's done his fair share of weaselling and he knows most of my tricks better than Bruiser ever did. Hunter frowns at me, but swallows whatever he'd been about to say. I turn away from Hunter to ask something of my Dad, but I snap my mouth shut when I notice he and Bruiser exchanging a long, considering look. Bruiser raises a questioning eyebrow at Dad, who frowns, then shakes his head imperceptibly. I turn quickly to Neesha (who, I can't help but notice has also turned quickly to me. Apparently, I'm not the only one who saw that) as Bruiser turns back around.

"You three go on up to bed," he says, avoiding our gazes. "Bray and I will finish up here. Keep your blinds down and if you hear someone at the door get behind the wall as fast as you can. Try not to leave any sign you've been there. Hunter, take your coat and boots with you. Last thing we need is somebody seeing them." We all nod and get up from our chairs, heading towards the stairs at the back of the kitchen, exchanging a look before we slip through the door. I raise a questioning eyebrow at Hunter and it's his turn to nod imperceptibly.

He saw it too.

The fact that I haven't slept all day finally catches up to me and I'm suddenly bone tired. From the look on the others' faces they feel the same way. We start trudging up the stairs.

"They didn't tell us everything," Hunter notes under his breath.

"Did anybody else get the feeling that they're not going to bed tonight?" Neesha adds. We exchange a glance as one and come to the same conclusion.

"Don't get undressed," I say quietly as we step into our room. "Sleep in your clothes, keep your weapons and coats nearby. Wherever they're going, we'll give them a ten-minute head start and then follow them out."

"Ten minutes is too soon," Hunter notes, hanging his coat over mine on the back of the chair in the corner. "They'll see us. I might be good at the cloak and dagger, and Neesha's half decent, but you're a problem, Link. Our dads aren't amateurs and you are." I frown at him.

"Cut me some slack," I say. "I've gotten better. Even you have to admit that."

"You still suck," Neesha says flatly from her corner of the room.

"Whatever," I say. "We can't wait any longer than ten minutes or we'll lose them. You said it yourself, they're not amateurs. They're not going to be easy to follow if they're going for any kind of stealth."

"Someone want to toss me a blanket?" Neesha says as she settles down onto the floor.

"I thought beds and blankets were for wusses," Hunter says, looking over at her.

"Beds are," Neesha agrees. "But Winter isn't for anyone and I'm freezing. Now give me a blanket or I'll just take yours." I roll my eyes.

"Just get her a blanket, Hunter," I say. "She'll need it to cover her clothes anyway. You _know_ Dad and Bruiser are going to check in on us before they leave." He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Why? So you can steal the top bunk while I'm gone?" We meet each other's gaze and neither one of us move.

That's exactly what I'm planning on doing.

"We're both too tired to wrestle for it," I point out.

"Fine," Hunter says. "Rock, paper, scissors. And loser has to go get Neesha a blanket too." I consider it, then nod.

"All right," I say, holding out my fist as he does the same.

"Rock, paper, scissors," we both chant quietly, ending by showing our choice. My fist versus his flat hand.

"Paper covers rock," he says with a smirk.

"Why do you always pick rock?" Neesha demands sleepily from the corner. "You never win with it." I ignore her and narrow my eyes at Hunter.

"This isn't over," I say flatly. He pulls himself easily up into the top bunk and rolls onto his side to smirk at me.

"It is for tonight," he answers. "Now go get Neesha a blanket before she freezes."

"It's not even cold in here," I mutter, slipping out the door and moving for the linen closet set into the wall between my room and the other two, which belong to Bruiser and Dad. I pull it open and start rifling through its contents. Nothing thick enough to please Neesha. This is mostly sheets and towels. I scratch my head and feel irrationally irritated for a minute.

I leave for three months and of everything that happened, it's the fact that he moved the blankets that pierces through my half-dead daze. I shrug mentally and let myself get cranky about it. Easier to be irritated over the blankets than try and fathom everything else that's changed since I left.

Why did he move the blankets? What was wrong with keeping them here? I liked them here.

I bet Dad moved them. Bruiser wouldn't have moved them.

I whirl around and move to the stairs but pause at the top when I hear the voices drifting up them. I almost can't make out the words over the sound of Dad and Bruiser doing the dishes. Almost, but not quite.

"… Impa will be ready," Dad's saying. I frown and strain to hear him better. "She hasn't told Zelda about Link, yet. She was afraid she'd give herself away if she knew we had him."

"She would have," Bruiser rumbles. "She probably would have told him everything too. Those two. They always have to do everything themselves!"

"They're headstrong," Dad answers. "It'll serve them well enough in the end."

"Assuming it doesn't get them killed," Bruiser answers apocalyptically.

"At any rate," Dad says, "everything's set for tonight. We'll be in and out of the palace before anyone knows we're there, assuming everything goes according to plan."

"Which it never does," Bruiser notes.

"Then we wing it, like we always do," Dad replies. "Just like old times." Bruiser laughs.

"Except we're not twenty anymore. We're getting too old for this, Bray."

"You're only as old as you feel," Dad replies easily. "But if its any consolation, after all this is over, I think Impa might actually be willing to let you retire." Bruiser snorts again and I lean forward, trying to hear more.

"That'll be the …" He pauses as the floorboard I'm on creaks. "Do you hear something?"

I wince.

Dammit!

I'm so busted …

Gotta think fast …

I whirl around.

"Hunter!" I call. "Where are the blankets?" He leans out and frowns at me.

"What the Hell have you …" I gesture frantically at him to play along, " … done to your brain?" He finishes. "They're in the linen closet!" I walk over and slam the linen cupboard shut.

"They _were_ in the linen closet," I reply. I can hear Bruiser stalking over to the steps.

Did he buy it?

"Why are you still up?" He demands. I cross my arms and glare down the stairs at him.

"Neesha's a baby. She needs a blank—" Before I can finish my sentence one of my boots comes whipping out of the room and nails me in the side of the head. I stumble to the side and turn to glare into the room at Neesha who's glaring out at me.

"I'll show you a baby," she snarls.

"Link! Put the boot down!" Bruiser growls as I dive down to throw the boot back at her. Dad appears behind him with a blanket in hand. He tosses it up the stairs to me and I drop the boot to catch it. "There," Bruiser mutters. "Now go to bed. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow." They both disappear around the corner again. I kick my boot back into the room (aiming at Neesha who scuttles out of the way) then gather up the blanket and head back into it.

"What was that about?" Hunter whispers, staring curiously at me. "What did you hear? You stood there forever." I dump the blanket unceremoniously on Neesha who aims a kick at my ankle that I just manage to dodge. I turn to Hunter with a grin.

"I think we can give them a bigger head start," I say. Hunter raises an eyebrow at me.

"You know where they're going?" He asks.

I smirk at him.

"I know where they're going."


	3. Sen Quis Lodannan Sen Vennan

# Chapter 3 and Interludes

"Time takes it all, whether you want it to or not.  
Time takes it all, time bears it away, and in the end there is only darkness.  
Sometimes we find others in that darkness …  
… and sometimes we lose them there again."

~ _Stephen King (The Green Mile)_ ~

## A Brief Interlude

_Darkness._

_Not solid black, translucent black, but black just the same._

_She cast a look around, aware of the feeling of urgency and foreboding that dominated her awareness. She recognized the dream for what it was; not just a dream, but one of_ those _dreams, and at that realization the dream took shape, as they always did._

_She braced._

_This would be a bad one._

_The darkness shifted and took form but didn't disappear. A map appeared behind it, and the darkness split itself up, aligning itself to different locations on the map._

Hyrule, _she thought to herself._ It's a map of Hyrule.

_As though it had been waiting for her to form that thought before acting, the black spots on the map abruptly erupted with flames, spreading like lightning over the map, curling its edges and turning it black, but not burning it away. Rather changing it. Beneath the map of Hyrule was another map, almost identical as far as the geography drawn on it, but she had never seen Hyrule drawn that way before._

_It was … frightening, though she couldn't really say why._

_The map was dark. Much darker than it should have been, but near its center was a spot of light, flickering weakly amidst all the dark._

_It was blue, shot through with gold._

_She knew who it was._

Link …

_Again her recognition sparked a change, this one much more violent than the last. The map rushed up to meet her and though she knew it was just a dream she cried out anyway and tried to shield herself from the impact that never came. As she pulled her arms down from her face, she realized she was standing in a field of the dead. She cried out again and stumbled backwards, tripping over the bodies and falling to the ground. She closed her eyes and drew in her breath very quickly, forcing herself to remain calm._

I have to find Link …

_She pushed herself to her feet and lurched forward, keeping her eyes straight ahead and forcing herself to focus on the pillar of light, not on the bodies around her. It didn't take her long._

_She finally found him on his knees in a large circle, cleared of bodies and formed by a ring of seven large crystals, from within all but one, familiar faces stared out at her: some frightened, some angry, some sad. All of them were looking at Link. The one which held no familiar face, held no face at all. It was empty._

It's mine _, she thought to herself._ It's for me …

_She blinked and when her eyes opened again, she was staring at Link from a different angle, and through a layer of crystal._

Dammit …

_She ground her teeth but forced herself to focus. The sooner the dream got to its point the sooner she could be free of it._

_It took her less than a heartbeat to regret her impatience._

_She turned her attention to Link and felt her heart stop. It was suddenly apparent why the light that had led her to him was flickering so weakly._

_He was dying._

_He was covered in blood which was still flowing from too many wounds to count. His left arm hung useless at his side and his right, clutching the Master Sword in a white knuckled grip was all that was keeping him from falling flat on the ground. His chest shuddered with every laboured breath he took, and his eyes were screwed shut with pain. His whole body was shaking._

_"Link!" She gasped. "Oh Link!"_

_At her words, the darkness from the beginning of the dream swelled up once more in front of Link. He opened his eyes finally as it reared up, just outside the circle and looked up at it. She could see, beneath the pain, a struggle going on behind his lashes._

_There was a choice._

_He was making a choice._

_The darkness lurched down at Link so fast Zelda wasn't sure at first it had moved. Her heart leapt into her throat._

_"Link!" She cried. He looked up at the darkness, still struggling to make the choice upon which she knew all of their lives hinged as he stared at the evil lunging down at him, intending to destroy him._

_"LINK!"_

***

"Storm brewing," Bruiser rumbled quietly, staring darkly out the window at the sky as he pulled his gloves on.

"Good," Brayden grunted, tying up his boots. "It'll cover our tracks, _and_ it might even keep the kids at home tonight." He finished off his knot and looked up at his brother. "You _know_ Link heard us talking, right?"

"Yep," Bruiser answered. "He's gotten better at skulking. A year ago he never would have pulled that off."

"That's my son," Brayden murmured wryly. "Thief in training." Bruiser raised an eyebrow at him.

"So why don't you teach him some Sheikan techniques then," he demanded. "Keep him from becoming too Gerudo."

"He hasn't got the patience required for Sheikan techniques," Brayden answered easily. Bruiser snorted.

"You mean you haven't the patience to teach him," he pointed out. Brayden flashed him an easy grin.

"That too," he said. "Seriously, though, he's got enough 'training' on his plate. I don't need to add any more to it."

"You spoil him."

"He's twenty-one years old," Brayden retorted, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't part of his life until he was eighteen. If he's spoiled, it wasn't me who did it."

"Well _I_ sure as Hell didn't spoil him," Bruiser replied. "Must have been the Gerudo who did it. Life as a King is making him soft." Brayden grinned but let the subject go.

Link would likely have something to say about the idea of the life of the King of the Gerudo being a soft one, but luckily for them he was dead to the world upstairs in his bed.

"You think they'll stay asleep?" He asked, changing the subject. Bruiser grinned, looking terribly amused.

"I don't think they intended to fall asleep," he answered. "They're still dressed. I think they were planning on waiting, likely giving us a ten, maybe fifteen-minute head start before coming after us."

"Ten minutes?" Brayden demanded, raising an eyebrow. "What do they take us for, amateurs? We'd have caught them for sure."

"It's not that they take us for amateurs," Bruiser said. "It's that they take themselves for pros. Hunter's had a cocky streak since the day he was born and Link and Neesha have done _nothing_ for it but to make it worse. They all feed off each other's cocky streaks until all we're left with is one big bundle of over-confidence." He smirked. "At any rate, it doesn't matter because they're all passed right the Hell out and will likely stay that way until we wake them up at sunrise. All that travelling took a bigger toll on them than they expected I think."

"And if we don't make it back to wake them up before sunrise?" Brayden asked, meeting his brother's gaze. Bruiser's face hardened.

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan_ ," he said.

"That might work on Hunter," Brayden pointed out, "but Link and Neesha probably can't even pronounce that, let alone follow it."

"Doesn't matter," Bruiser said. "All we need to do is convince one and the other two will follow. Hunter knows better than to break the rule. He'll make sure they get to the desert."

"Here's hoping," Brayden said grimly, getting to his feet and grabbing the lantern by the door. "Come on. The sooner we do this thing, the sooner we're done and can come back. I don't like leaving them alone like this when the whole damn world's after them." Bruiser nodded and together they slipped out the door and into the growing storm.

***

Zelda came awake with a cry, jolting straight up in bed and staring at the diaphanous curtains that surrounded her bed with wide, terrified eyes. A frantic, uncomprehending look around, a shuddering breath, and she let herself fall back onto her pillows, ignoring the discomfort caused by her tangled blankets. She covered her face with her hands and tried to calm herself down.

She had been right.

That one _was_ bad.

She allowed herself the briefest of moments to be angry that _she_ had been the one, of everyone in Hyrule, chosen to be 'blessed' with the gift of prophecy. She hated it. Every time it happened, she hated it more. It never quite seemed worth it. Half the time she couldn't even make sense of the things she saw, let alone act on them. She twisted around and punched her pillow, glaring down at it.

"Why is it always Link?" She hissed to herself. She refocused her anger on that before she could start to feel sorry for herself. She couldn't afford that. Easier to feel sorry for Link.

How many times had she seen Link hurt in her dreams? How many times had she seen him die? She was terrified that one day she'd see it, and it wouldn't be a metaphor. It wouldn't be a symbol, standing for something else entirely. One day, she'd dream of him dying, and it would be just that. The odds would finally catch up to him.

It had happened once already – she'd be a fool to deny it, even if he _had_ somehow come back to them afterwards – who's to say it couldn't happen again? And permanently next time?

As much as she was a slave to her powers and her position as the Seventh Sage, there were times it seemed that Link wore twice the chains that she did and had less than half the freedom. Sometimes it seemed that the whole universe was conspiring to crush him beneath its weight. It was like it took offence to his laughing, defiant face and meant to see his spirit broken.

But Link never really seemed to notice – which was perhaps the most frustrating thing about him.

So she felt sorry for him, because he refused to feel sorry for himself and as far as she was concerned, _someone_ had to do it.

She rubbed her eyes and rolled back over onto her back. She stared up at her canopy and tried to put the dream behind her. If it was important, this wouldn't be the last time she had it. If it was really important, she'd be subjected to it every time she so much as nodded off.

_Think happy thoughts,_ she thought to herself. _Take your mind off the bad ones with happy ones. Like … Link is home. And Hunter, and Neesha too._

And Agahnim was trying to find them and kill them.

She rolled over onto her side. _Happy!_ She scolded herself. _When Brayden and Bruiser get here, I'll be able to see them again. Kisses and hugs and laughing all around._

Kisses and hugs and laughing for her and her friends, and misery, death and suffering for everyone else.

_Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy,_ she snarled savagely at herself. But it was no use, and she knew it.

She hadn't been happy since the day Link left. Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever be happy again.

She growled in irritation at herself for her fatalistic line of thinking and pushed herself to her hands and knees, crawling over to the edge of her bed.

She wasn't going to get any more sleep tonight – she shouldn't have even gotten the little bit she did – and Brayden and Bruiser would be there soon, so as far as she was concerned, she might as well do something useful with herself.

Like scolding someone.

She definitely felt like scolding someone.

_Impa_ , she decided, pushing aside the curtain surrounding her bed and burying her toes in the lush carpet beneath it. _I'll scold Impa. She shouldn't have let me fall asleep. Not tonight, of all nights. That's reason enough for a scolding._ She was pretty sure it was a futile endeavour – the only thing scolding Impa ever amounted to was getting scolded herself for one thing or another – but she was after company more than anything else, and Impa would understand that inherently.

Impa always did.

She padded her way across her expansive room to the door at the other end, pulling it open slowly and sticking her head out into the little chamber outside it. She frowned at the draft of cold air that brushed against her face.

"Impa?" She whispered. "Are you there?" She wasn't. And the fire had gone out, which explained why the room was so cold. Zelda froze.

Where had Impa gone? It wasn't like her to leave for no reason, especially on a night like tonight.

She pulled her face back from the door and immediately took stock of her situation. There was no Sheikan bodyguard in the little room outside her own. A quick glance at the window confirmed it was after midnight, with a dark storm brewing on the horizon. Bruiser and Brayden were late. The fire in the room had gone out, which meant Impa had been gone for a while.

No Impa. No Bruiser and Brayden. And there hadn't been in a while.

Her stomach turned to lead in her gut and her grip tightened compulsively on the doorknob.

Something had gone wrong.

There was a brief flash and when it faded she had changed form, reverting to the crimson-eyed boy that had kept her hidden for seven long years, and gotten her out of twice as many scrapes as it had gotten her into. She did a quick count of her weapons – a multitude of hidden knives, whip secured at her belt, bandages in place over her hands to protect her knuckles from the damage she used them to inflict – and then slipped to one side of the door, slowly pushing it open with her foot.

"Looking for Bruiser and Brayden?" Said a dead voice to the left side of the door inside the little room. A very familiar figure separated itself from the shadows. "They're not coming." Sheik gave an unintentional start.

"Thomas?" She gasped, recognizing him instantly. It was kind of hard to miss the only person in Hyrule under the age of 25 with grey hair. "Where have you –" She took a step towards him but froze when he lifted a crossbow, loaded and ready to fire and pointed at her chest. She stared at it for a moment, several harsh realties settling themselves into her brain. "So it's true," she said flatly, looking back up at him finally. "You _have_ betrayed us. After everything we've been through, Thomas, how could you just –"

"Put your hands on your head," he said, the half-dead tone never leaving his voice. Sheik didn't move.

"What have you done with the people you kidnapped?" He said nothing, merely held the crossbow steady. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to peer through the shadows that covered his face. Something wasn't right.

Besides the fact one of her precious few childhood friends was pointing a crossbow at her chest.

"Where's Impa?" She demanded. "And what do you mean Bruiser and Brayden aren't coming?"

"If you don't put your hands on your head, I will shoot you," Thomas said flatly. She shook her head slowly.

"Thomas … you can't possibly …"

"I broke Acqul's arm for getting in my way. I stabbed Talon. Had they kept coming after me I would have killed them. I _can_ shoot you, Zelda. And I will." There was no doubt behind his words. Zelda lowered her head.

So that was it then.

He was longer a friend. And in times like these if they weren't your friend, they were your enemy.

There was only one thing to do.

But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

She brought her hands up at last, but she didn't do it slowly, and they weren't empty when she did. Two knives, pulled from her belt on the way up, flew from her fingertips. One went awry, but the other struck Thomas in the shoulder, impaling him to the wall. Zelda didn't waste any time. Before she was even finished the throwing motion she had spun around and behind the door again. The palace was full of secret passages and there was a grand total of three which lead out of her room. The only question was which one should she take. The coals were still hot in her fireplace which ruled out that one. She didn't have time to shove aside the armoire blocking the other, which left only the one behind the tapestry. She bit her lips.

Thomas knew about that one.

But beggars can't be choosers and the sound of Thomas snarling as he finally ripped the dagger out of his shoulder told her she was out of time.

She bolted.

"Bel! Mel!" Thomas shouted from the other room. "She's making a break for it!" She heard the whisper of a crossbow bolt flying through the air followed by a dull thud as it embedded itself in her bedpost as she ran by it.

She had just enough time to think: _I can't believe he just shot at me,_ before the tapestry she was aiming for was suddenly thrown aside and Bel and Mel moved out from behind it.

"Nayru," she snarled, skidding to a stop and trying to reverse direction, but she was too late. Bel and Mel were on her before she could complete the turn, tackling her to the ground.

"We got her, Thomas, relax," said Bel, forcing Sheik's hands behind her back.

"Sorry Sheik," Mel said softly, sounding tortured. "We really are … but we haven't got a choice."

"You're sorry, all right," Sheik hissed, struggling furiously against their grip. "The sorriest bunch of traitors I've ever seen. How could you do this?" Nobody answered her as Bel focused on tying her hands behind her back. "Bruiser and Brayden will be here any second," she said, changing tactics. "You might have been able to take me, but you'll never take –"

"I already told you," Thomas said harshly, walking into the room. "They're not coming." There was a pause. "Agahnim's ready for them." Sheik's heart froze.

"What?" She whispered.

"They won't be coming," Thomas repeated, then fell silent.

Sheik sagged in defeat, then shook her head as Bel and Mel hauled him to his feet.

It was too late for her. She'd been caught and she wouldn't be getting free.

Impa was nowhere in sight.

Bruiser and Brayden had failed in their mission.

It was too late.

But there was _someone_ it wasn't too late for.

If she could just make contact, tell him to get the Hell out …

It wouldn't work, she knew it wouldn't …

How many times had she told him to get the Hell out of how many places? Too many to count.

And how many times had he listened? Too few.

But it wasn't like there was a choice.

She closed her eyes and went limp in Bel's and Mel's arms.

"She passed out!" Bel gasped.

Thomas hissed, then turned his attention inward, addressing the vile presence at the back of his mind.

_She's contacting Link …_

***

##  **Chapter 3**

_"Zelda?" I frown at the haze around me. I can hear the unseen choir of the Temple of Time chanting, but it sounds thick and far away. Like I'm under water. All around me vague shapes are formed of the haze but dissipate before they can grow solid._

_What the Hell is this?_

_"Zelda! What's going on?"_

_This isn't right …_

_This isn't a dream. I know that much. This doesn't feel like a dream. It doesn't act like a dream._

_But I'm not awake …_

_"Zelda? Answer me, dammit!"_

_It has to be her. It_ has _to be. I know what this feels like. It's feels like the instant between giving in to her mental call and suddenly finding myself standing at the Temple of Time and staring at her. We do this all the time. For Din's sake, we_ practiced _this._

_It's never done this before though … it's never stopped here._

_This is wrong._

_Something is wrong!_

_"Zelda!"_

_"Link!" The voice is warped, and seems to come from everywhere at once, but I know it. I'd know it anywhere. "Link! It's Agahnim! He's … interfering with the connection!"_

_"Zelda! Where are you? What's he doing to you?" I can feel panic rising in my chest as I stare frantically around at the haze._

_"Link, listen to me," she pleads, "I don't know how long I can hold this connection. You need to get out of Castletown! Go to the desert!"_

_"We are," I respond, still trying vainly to spot her through the haze. "Tomorrow. Zelda, what's go—"_

_"You have to leave now!" She cries, her voice strained. "Agahnim knows you're back! Brayden and Bruiser were supposed to come and smuggle me out, but they never came. Agahnim was ready for them. Something's gone wrong with the plan."_

_"What?" I gasp. "No, that doesn't make any sense. They haven't been gone that long. We were going to follow –" My voice dies off. If I'm here – wherever here is – then odds are I'm asleep._

_I must have passed out the instant my head hit the pillow._

_And if I'm asleep, Hunter and Neesha must be too …_

_"Damn!" I shake my head quickly. "Of all the … Zelda, where are you now? Hunter, Neesha and I will be there before you can blink."_

_"Link! You can't! You'll be caught!"_

_"I'm not going anywhere until I found out what happened to Dad and Bruiser," I counter. "And that means following them to the palace. We may as well grab you on our way through." She wants to argue with me. I can_ feel _her irritation even through the haze. But she hasn't got time for it. Her voice is getting progressively farther away, and the haze is getting thicker. I can feel the connection slipping. "Tell me where you are!"_

_"The dungeons," she relents finally. "They're taking me to the dungeons. I don't know what Agahnim's planning, Link, but I've no doubt he intends to do whatever it is tonight, you need to hurry."_

_"Know any shortcuts?" I ask, not really expecting an answer, but to my surprise, there is one._

_"Yes. Head for the east side of the palace, there's a secret passage set into the wall near the garden, Hunter should know how to find it. It's the route your father was supposed …" Her voice fades to the point of becoming a whisper._

_"Zelda!" I gasp. "Dammit. Sit tight, Zelda! We're on our way!" Her voice murmurs something I can't make out and I glare at the haze around me, fists clenched tightly._

_"AGAHNIM!" I shout. "You snake. I'm coming for her! And so help me Din, if you so much as lay a crooked old finger on her, there'll be Hell to pay …"_

_The only answer is a thickening of the haze, and the vague impression that somehow, somewhere, the old wizard is laughing._

_I hope he chokes on it._

_Zelda's voice finally fades completely and the next thing I know …_

_…_ I'm sitting up in bed so fast I crack my head off the top bunk.

"Farore!" I cry, clutching my head and falling back onto the mattress. "Oww … for Nayru's sake …" Hunter stirs above me but doesn't wake up at the noise. Neesha's pushing herself into a sitting position and staring at me in sleepy confusion.

Apparently we underestimated the toll all the travelling we've been doing took on us. Ten rupees says we all passed right the Hell out as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

Dad and Bruiser must have been so smug.

"Get up!" I shout, rolling myself out of the bed and fighting my way out of my tangled blankets. "Get up! Both of you!" Hunter groans as Neesha pushes herself to her feet, her eyes widening when she realizes what must have happened. "Neesha! Get him up!" I cry, flying out of the room and bolting over to Bruiser's room.

Empty. Bed's still made. No point checking Dad's room, it'll be the same.

Instead I whirl around on my heel and tear over to the stairs, leaping down them two at a time and skipping the last four altogether. I scramble to keep my balance without slowing my pace as I push through the kitchen door and out into the archery shop itself.

Coat rack's empty. Boot rack's empty.

They're gone.

But they left a note tacked to the door.

"Gone out for a bit. If we're not back by morning, get yourselves out of town and your way to the desert. We'll meet you there. Bruiser. P.S. That's an order." My eyes narrow.

"Meet us there, my _ass_ ," I hiss, glaring at the note. If they aren't back by morning, odds are they aren't coming back.

_Agahnim was ready for them …_

I whirl back around and run back up the stairs.

"Link! In here!" Hunter calls from his dad's room. I immediately reverse direction and head there instead of back to ours. "Give me a hand here," he grunts, shoving at a heavy wooden trunk. I frown and move over, grabbing the other side and pulling. "Dad's got a weapon stash under here," he grunts in answer to my unspoken question. "How long have we been out for?"

"Too long," I answer, quickly filling he and Neesha in on my conversation with Zelda. By the time I'm done, Hunter's staring at me with a dread-filled look.

"Link, you don't think …"

"I don't think anything," I say harshly. "Not until I see it. Now hurry up. The faster we get out of here, the faster we find our dads." He nods once and then pulls up on the edge of the trapdoor set into the floor, lifting the lid and revealing the large box of well-organized weapons beneath it.

"Goddess damn it," Neesha hisses, glaring out the window at the swirling snow that's obscuring our view of the street. "Does it ever _not_ snow here?"

"Quit complaining," Hunter says, tossing me one of the knives he took from his Dad's weapons stash. "It'll cover our tracks and keep anyone from seeing us." Neesha mutters something and moves out of the room. Hunter buries himself again in the box, which I'm staring at blankly.

I lived in this building for more than seven years and never knew that was there. I'm kind of horrified at myself.

"Do you need another sword?" Hunter asks from the box.

"Is there one in there?" I ask.

"Nope," he answers, "but there's a hunting knife."

"Pass," I say. "I'll be fine with the one scimitar."

Farore I want the Master Sword back. More so now that I know I can't have it.

"What time do you think it is?"

"Can't tell," Neesha answers, coming back in, our coats in her arms. "Too cloudy, I can't see the moon." I take my coat from her and slip it on. "Are we ready to roll yet? What are you looking for?"

"Lantern," Hunter answers, grunting as he pulls himself out of the box again, wielding the aforementioned item. "It's black as pitch out there, and as unstealthy as a lantern is, we might wind up needing one."

"Bruiser keeps the lantern in a box under his floor?" Neesha demanded, wrinkling her nose.

"He keeps _a_ lantern in the box under his floor. The other one's gone. They must have taken it. Link, help me shove this back over." He sets the lantern to the side and shuts the trapdoor. I take one side of the heavy chest that covered it and he takes the other and with much grunting and groaning we manage to slide it back into its usual spot.

"There," Hunter says, slipping his own coat on. "Now, let's get this show on the road."

"Great," Neesha mutters, making a face as she pulls her scarf up over her face and tightens it. Hunter grabs the lantern and we all hurry out of Bruiser's room and down the stairs, slipping out of the kitchen and into the shop.

"Stay close," Hunter says, adjusting his own scarf. "Link, you know Castletown best, you take point. We need to stay out of sight and avoid people – not that there's going to be very many people out at this time of night, let alone in this weather." I nod and wrap my very own Sheikan shawl (a birthday present from Dune two years ago) around my face and slip out into the storm as Hunter blows out the candle in the house, leaving it dark, before slipping out after me. Neesha hesitates for only a moment before setting her jaw (what's sad is that she's got the scarf wrapped tightly enough around her face that I can see that at all) and plunging into the cold, letting the door fall shut behind her.

Here's hoping our fathers live up to their reputations.

***

"Just how many secret passages does this palace have?" I ask Hunter in a tense whisper as he slides the wall-that-is-not-a-wall-but-is-in-fact-a-door shut again, leaving no seam to give it away. He offers me an equally tense grin as he pulls down his scarf.

"Too many to count," he answers. "It was designed by Sheikah, you know. We like secret things in case you haven't noticed." Neesha and I both roll our eyes.

"I noticed," I respond flatly, turning around to take in our surroundings. We're in a cramped little stairwell with only two possible directions to go in: up or down.

"Where did Zelda say she was?" Neesha asks, glancing around. "Up or down?"

"Down for sure," I answer. "She's in the dungeons." Hunter frowns.

"Are you sure it was actually Zelda and not just a dream?" I give him the what-am-I-an-idiot? look.

"For the trazillionth time, Hunter, _yes_ I'm sure it was Zelda. It was different, for sure, but it wasn't a dream." He makes a face back at me.

"Touchy," he complains. "And for the record, trazillion isn't a number. So if it wasn't a dream, and it wasn't your normal connection, what was it?"

"It _was_ the normal connection. Agahnim was interfering. She couldn't complete the link is all."

It's like this: Zelda, as the seventh Sage, is unique among the other sages. For one thing, she hasn't got a temple. Her job isn't to take care of worshippers. For two, she isn't associated with anything. As in Impa's the Sage of Shadow, Darunia's the Sage of Fire and so on and so forth, but Zelda's not the Sage of anything, and if she is, it's the Sage of Sages.

Sage of Sages. I like that. That's a good way to put it.

She's technically their unofficial leader, and when it comes to 'Sage business,' she's got the final say.

And I am nothing, if not Sage business.

In her capacity as the Seventh Sage, part of her job is me. Whether it's to help me or to use me depends on your point of view and how bad of a mood I'm in. Her powers are mostly an odd combination of telepathic and prophetic, and the telepathic part applies to me (a disturbing portion of the prophetic tends to feature me as well, but that's for other reasons which have more to do with what I am, as opposed to what she is).

A few times over the years since we first met, she was able to reach out to my mind with hers and forge a link. We both had to be on the same wavelength to do it, and it had to be a stormy one at that. Since then, however, and with a lot of practice, she can now do it almost whenever she wants. And, much to her annoyance from time to time, with a lot of practice, I can now say no. I can recognize it for what it is and if I don't feel like talking to her, I don't have to.

Which is good.

Because it's not as simple as you might a think a telepathic conversation would be. It's not a disembodied voice that sounds like Zelda rattling around in my head. It's kind of hard to describe. The connection is deeper than that and it takes us both away from wherever it is we actually are. When she activates the bond and I let her in the world blurs out and next thing I know I'm somewhere else and Zelda's there too. It looks real and feels real and smells real and I become completely unaware of the real world.

I don't understand it anymore than I sound like I do, which is to say not at all, but it works and that's good enough for me.

"Well … can you sense her now?" Hunter asks. I frown and concentrate for a moment before shaking my head bitterly.

"Not really," I answer. "Not enough to say for sure." Hunter sighs as well.

"Where the Hell did he get the power to block Sage abilities …"

"Hey," Neesha says suddenly, stopping in her tracks and forcing Hunter and I to stop as well.

"What?" I demand, frowning at her. She's staring with narrowed eyes at one of the torches illuminating the little stone stairwell.

"This is a secret passage, right?" She asks.

"Yes," Hunter answers with a raised eyebrow.

"So no one knows about it and no one really uses it?"

"That's generally what the word 'secret' implies," he agrees. "Are you going somewhere with this, Neesha?" She points at the torch.

"Well if this is secret and no one knows about it or uses it, why are the torches all lit?" Hunter blinks and stares at the torch, then glances back and forth at all the other lit torches lining the walls.

"Well … maybe Dad and Uncle Bray – but no, they wouldn't have. Not if they were going for secrecy …" His blinks and his eyes widen suddenly.

"Link … you don't think Agahnim was listening in when you and Zelda …" I close my eyes and rub my temple, feeling the onset of a headache.

This isn't going well.

"Agahnim was _definitely_ listening in," I answer. "I could feel him there …" Neesha takes a step backwards, back up the stairs and the three of us exchange a paranoid glance.

"Maybe we should find another way –" Before she can finish her sentence, the stairs we're standing on erupt with red light.

"Move!" I cry, and as one we twist and try to bolt back up the stairs, but we're too late. They disappear from under us and the next thing we know we're toppling head over heels down into the darkness. A line of explosive oaths erupt from Neesha somewhere above me, but they're abruptly cut off. Before I can get the breath to call out to her, I land – with the expected combination of thuds, cracks, and groans.

"Farore," I push out hoarsely. Despite having no air left in my chest, I roll over onto my side and clutch the back of my head. It's not the only thing that hurts, but it's the most convenient. "Nayru and Din," I add for good measure. There's no sound around me. I take a moment to catch my breath then push myself up and look around. Fat lot of good it does me. It's pitch black in here.

Wherever here is.

"Hunter? Neesha?" I call. Nothing. No answer. "Dammit." I push myself to my feet and stagger for a moment as my head pounds in protest. I reach back and under my hat, frowning when I touch my hair and feel the thick wetness of blood.

Great.

Just great.

That's going to hurt for days.

I reach behind my back and pull out my bow, double checking to make sure it didn't get cracked in the fall. For once since I've gotten back something's gone right. It's in one piece. I reach back to my quiver and feel around until I feel the familiar, eerily smooth shaft of the light arrow (distinguishable from the other two by its lukewarm temperature). I pull it out and nock it to my bow, releasing the magic, but not the arrow. It flares brightly with golden light and I cast a slow look around at my surroundings.

I, the great Hero of Time, saviour of Hyrule, and King of the Gerudo, the one who has made a _point_ of being a pain in the collective side of all black magic users and politicians in general, who has told Agahnim _to his face_ that I hate his _guts_ , _and_ who's tried to punch him on _more_ than one occasion, have been locked, by said black-magic using, son-of-a-bitch politician whom I hate …

… in a cleaning closet.

Well it's nice to know that he considers me a threat.

I'm actually kind of offended.

I roll my eyes and let the Light arrow go out, slipping it back into my quiver and my bow back onto my back. There's no way out of this room except the one door – which I definitely didn't fall through – which means, without a doubt, that it was Agahnim who took the stairs out from under us because that requires magic, and although some of my allies in the palace can use a bit of magic, if it had been my ally, they would _not_ have split me, Hunter and Neesha up.

So, that brings the list of people I need to find and/or rescue from three up to five.

And this assuming I won't soon need rescuing myself.

Without wasting any more time, I call my own magic spell to mind and let the power run through me. The little closet is suddenly infused with a soft green light.

"Farore's … wind!" I whisper. The green glow surges up me and fuses into a small glowing ball just above my head. I look up at it. "In case of emergency," I tell it with a wink.

If I didn't know better, I'd say it winked back. Shaking my head at my own foolishness and I tiptoe gingerly over to the door.

Because if they weren't alerted by the sound of me crashing into this stupid closet and swearing they're going to notice me moving to the door.

I push the door open carefully and stick my head around to see what's out there …

… but all I see is the wrong end of something round and black just before it smashes into my head and everything goes black.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Neesha?"

"Here," came the pained response.

"Link?" No answer. "Link? You all right?" Still no answer.

Hunter pushed himself up on his good elbow (the other had hit the hard stone floor before the rest of him had and was now throbbing like nothing else) and looked around, waiting impatiently for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

"He's not here," Neesha said, her voice flat as she pushed herself unsteadily to her feet.

"But … then where is he?" Hunter asked, craning his neck around to look at the whole room. It was a small, square room – maybe big enough for ten people with a bit of elbow room. The only exit was to their right, and it looked like it extended into a hallway beyond. The constant _drip-drip_ of water echoed from the corner where a large puddle had gathered, and the air was chill.

Definitely a dungeon.

"Who the Hell knows," Neesha muttered, rubbing her knee and making a face. "If he can make stairs spontaneously not exist Agahnim could have probably sent him anywhere."

"Neesha, that's bad," Hunter said, pushing himself to his feet and knitting his brow. "Wherever he is, he's on his own, and Agahnim's after him. Farore, that's probably why he split us up. We need to find him."

"Thanks for that, Captain Obvious," Neesha said, glaring at him. She pushed past him and headed towards the exit to the room. "Because I was planning on just abandoning him, personally." Hunter rolled his eyes at her back.

"Gerudo," he muttered under his breath, following her. "Always have something smart to say, don't they?"

"What?" Neesha asked, turning to look at him as they slipped out into the hallway.

"I said you're just bitter because you walked face-first into a trap," he answered. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh yes," she said, "and you're down here with me because you somehow didn't?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and he sighed.

"Yeah, well … point taken," he acceded. "Tell you what, how about we leave that part out when we find Dad and Uncle Bray?" Neesha nodded.

"That and the part where we fell aslee –" She froze in mid-step and held up a hand. "Wait," she said quietly, "I hear something." Hunter cocked his head to the side and strained his ears, then nodded.

"Footsteps," he confirmed in a low voice. "Headed this way." He moved as though to gesture for them to split up and hide, but just before he did there was a change in the rhythm of the footsteps, followed immediately by a loud thud and a muffled oath delivered by a familiar voice.

"Dad!" Hunter gasped. He started forward, but Neesha grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Wait," she hissed. "it might be another trap."

But it wasn't a trap. Before she had even finished her sentence, a barely recognizable Bruiser staggered around the corner. Half of his face was drenched in blood thanks to a nasty gash over his right eye. His left side was soaked as well from another deep slash and his right arm was hanging limply by his side.

"Dad!" Hunter cried again. Bruiser's head snapped up at the shout and he stared at Hunter and Neesha through one eye. He swayed awkwardly and almost lost his grip on the wall. Hunter's eyes widened in horror and he twisted out of Neesha's grip and moved forward to help, but Bruiser held up a hand.

"No! Stay where you are!" He cried, the strength of his voice belying the state of his body. Hunter froze in horror.

"Dad! What –" Before he could finish his question, a half dozen guards rounded the opposite corner of the hallway. Hunter's eyes narrowed and he drew his sword. He could hear Neesha following suit behind him.

"Sir! We've found them!" One of them shouted. Bruiser shook his head to clear it.

"RUN!" He growled. "I'll buy you time, get the Hell out!" He propelled himself off the wall with a furious cry and threw himself at the soldiers. Hunter felt his stomach clench. There was no way Bruiser could take them all, as hurt as he was.

He needed help.

"Dad, NO!" Hunter raised his sword and prepared to run down the corridor and close the distance between he and the soldiers, but he froze in shock when another familiar figure rounded the corner and slipped past Bruiser and the others.

"Thomas!" Neesha gasped behind him. They hesitated only a moment – just long enough to register the expression on Thomas's face that identified him as an enemy – but it was too long. Thomas raised his hands and chanted a short, harsh word. At the sound, the shadows in the hallway surged up and around Hunter and Neesha, solidifying around their feet, wrenching weapons from their hands and holding them fast in place.

Behind Thomas, almost in slow motion, Bruiser staggered backwards and fell, landing hard and struggling in vain to get back up again.

"Dammit boy," he hissed weakly from the ground. "I told you to run …"

"Thomas!" Hunter shouted furiously, struggling against the inky bonds that held him in place. "What the Hell are you playing at?" Behind him, Neesha was silent, her face a mask of impotent fury as she pulled at the shadows holding her. Thomas didn't answer, and instead gestured for the soldiers to move forward and take Hunter and Neesha. One of them hesitated, casting a glance down at Bruiser.

"Sir, what should we do with …"

"Kill him," Thomas interrupted, waving his hand impatiently. "We have what we came for."

"What?" Hunter cried. "Thomas! You can't be serious!" The soldier looked back and forth from Hunter to Thomas and back again, but Thomas's cold expression didn't change. He winced.

"Sir … couldn't we … couldn't we at least wait until the boy's gone? To kill his father right in front of him …" Thomas spun on his heel so suddenly the soldier stepped back. He pulled the bow from the soldier's hand and ripped an arrow from his quiver.

"Thomas! NO!" Hunter shouted, throwing himself against his bonds. Bruiser turned his face to Hunter and met his horrified gaze.

"Hunter …" he said stiffly. " _Sen quis … sen quis lodanan…_ "

"DON'T DO IT! THOMAS!" Hunter practically shrieked. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"… _sen vennan_ …"

Thomas nocked the arrow, pulled back the string, and released it all in the same fluid motion. The arrow sliced into Bruiser's chest and embedded itself there. The big man gasped, turning his face up. A shudder ran through his body and for an instant he tensed up, then abruptly relaxed. His head fell limply to the side and his last breath shuddered in his chest.

His eyes fell shut, and Bruiser of the Sheikah lay still.

Hunter stared at his still form with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

"No," he whispered. "No!" And as fast as they widened, they narrowed again, and he directed a glare full of rage at Thomas. "Why?" He hissed. "Why, Thomas, why?" Thomas didn't answer, but instead threw the bow to the side.

"Take them," he said. "Hurry it up. We've got the last three now, Agahnim will be impatient to get started."

"Hunter," Neesha said softly from behind him. "Hunter, I'm …" She fell silent, unsure of what to say. Hunter didn't respond. He wouldn't remove his eyes from Thomas.

"I don't know what possessed to you kill him," he hissed, venom in his voice as the soldiers moved to bind him so that the shadows could be removed. "I don't know what's happened to change you, Thomas. But I do know this." His eyes narrowed even further, and his fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. "You're a dead man." Thomas said nothing but continued to stare impassively back at him as the soldiers finally finished tying them up and the shadows slid back to their correct places on the floor and walls.

_Five plus two makes seven,_ Thomas intoned inwardly as the soldiers led Neesha and Hunter down the hallway. _Mission complete. What next?_

_Guard them_ , answered the voice. _I am not quite ready for them yet and the Hero is still loose in the palace. If he comes for them, kill him. He is not required._ Thomas nodded once.

_As you wish_ , he said, and turned to follow the soldiers down the hall.


	4. Blood on Mine

#  **Chapter 4 and a Brief Interlude**

##  **Chapter 4**

"Sir Link! Sir Link! Ohhhhh … please wake up! Sir Link!"

I pry my eyes open at the frantic whisper, vaguely aware of the fact that something is shaking me – which is really only making the pounding headache that's pervading my entire being worse. I groan and raise my hand to my head, trying to stop its shaking.

It doesn't work.

"Sir Link! You're awake! You're not dead!"

"What?" I blink and my vision slowly clears. "Marni?"

The short little cleaning-girl meets my gaze with huge, tear-filled brown eyes.

"Oh, I thought I'd killed you!" She practically sobs, shaking me harder.

"Marni …" I practically beg. "Please stop shaking me … _please_ …" She gives a horrified little gasp and immediately releases me. Without her support I fall backwards again and just _barely_ manage to avoid cracking my head off the ground yet _again_.

Concussion, here we come.

More like a fractured skull.

"I'm sorry!" She cries, then abruptly lowers her voice, casting a paranoid look around. "It's just … you startled me so, dropping into the closet like that … I just … I thought maybe you were … were a Stalfos or something, so I … I just … when you stuck your head out, I just reacted, and … and I didn't know it was you, Sir Link! I swear it! I never would have hit you if I'd known!" I stare blankly up at her.

" _You're_ the one that hit me?" I demand. She nods miserably. "With _what?_ " I distinctly remember getting _nailed_ and Marni's just a tiny thing. She's shorter than Malon, for Din's sake. The pounding in my head feels like I got hit by a Goron. She hangs her head and points at something to my side. I turn my head and look, taking in the cast-iron frying pan laying discarded there with a kind of wry, pain-filled amusement.

A frying pan.

Why am I not surprised?

I cover my aching face with my hands and groan.

"I'm sorry," Marni whispers miserably. "I'm so sorry, Sir Link. After everything you've done for me! You've always been nice to me! You've never said anything mean or untoward to me! And here I am, repaying your kindness by smashing you with my pan! Oh! I'll never forgive myself!" Her voice is getting louder again. I have to stop her, or she'll start wailing and crying.

She's one of the sweetest people I've ever met in my entire life, but she has a penchant for drama and exaggeration that can be … loud to say the least. Partly due to the fact that she's only sixteen – same age as Neesha, I suppose, but Neesha's Gerudo and they're different in any way you care to mention – but I suspect that even if she was fifty-two she'd still act like this.

"Marni, it's all right," I say hurriedly, pushing myself up into a seated position, pausing for a moment to let the dizziness pass. "I'm all right. You only hit me in the head. Thickest thing on me, right? I'll be fine."

"There you go again!" She sobs. "Being nice! Trying to make me feel better! Trying to excuse my foolishness! But there's no excuse! Hitting a noble like that! If my poor, dead parents could see me now! My family's been serving the royal family for generations! And now their fool of a daughter is off … _assaulting_ a Knight of Hyrule! And the Princess' consort besides! Oh!" She cries, turning a terrified look on me. "You won't send your Gerudo assassins after me, will you? I'd deserve it! I would! And I wouldn't blame you, but please, Sir Link, please! My brother's just thirteen! I don't know what he'd do without me to look after him!"

Princess' consort, eh. Is that what they're calling us now. I swear to Din there's a new phrase for us every week.

"Marni, calm down," I say grabbing her shoulders and giving her a stiff shake. I force her to meet my gaze. "Calm down. First off, I'm not all that noble. Second off, you hardly assaulted me—" That's a blatant lie, but sometimes these things are necessary "—and thirdly, if I'm going to assassinate someone, I'll do it myself, not send my Gerudo." Another blatant lie on every level, but Marni is a romantic at heart and she likes those kinds of stories. "And I'd never assassinate you anyway. Who would take my letters to Zelda when she's not speaking to me, hmm?" And probably reads every word of them. "And who's going to put my hat somewhere I can find it when I stay here at the palace?" She lowers her eyes like she's supposed to (though Din knows _I_ don't require that, and it annoys the Hell out of me when she does it) but a pleased blush has worked its way up her cheeks. "All right?" I ask. She nods.

"All right," she says, taking a deep breath.

"Good," I say, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet. "Now, I wish I could stay and chat, Marni, I've got three months worth of court intrigue to catch up on with you—" 'court intrigue' meaning mostly unsubstantiated rumours and gossip with an actual useful tip thrown in just often enough to keep me from giving up the endeavour entirely "—but I'm sort of on a mission."

"Oh!" She gasps as I move out of the closet. "Sir Link! Wait!" I turn and look at her. She shakes her head frantically. "You can't go," she says. "They'll catch you!"

"Who?" I ask.

"The palace guard!" She answers. "They're on high alert! They've all been woken up and sent out to look for intruders! You and your friends, sir! Sir Hunter and Lady Neesha!" I blink at her in surprise.

"And you didn't turn me in?" I ask. Marni looks offended all of a sudden.

"Turn you in?" She demands. "Sir Link, I'd _never_ betray you! Whatever that awful Agahnim says you've done, I don't believe him one bit! You'd never do _anything_ to hurt Hyrule! Or the royal family!" I feel a sudden surge of warmth for the girl and squeeze her shoulder to demonstrate it. She smiles ecstatically and ushers me suddenly towards the back of the little room we're in. "Here, take the servants' paths. They lead almost everywhere in the upper levels of the palace and will keep you away from most of the guards. Do …" Her voice dies off and she hesitates suddenly, then her face hardens, and she draws herself up. "Do you need me to show you the way?" I offer her a smile and shake my head.

"It's a bit dangerous," I say, "and I don't want you to get in trouble for helping me. Like you said, your brother needs you still. I'll be fine." She opens the little door at the back that leads to a little hallway. "I've been in worse scrapes than this."

"Be careful!" She calls as I slip into the hallway and begin moving down it. I can hear her slip the door shut again behind me.

The servants' paths are a series of interconnected hallways – not quite secret passageways, as they aren't exactly secret, and they generally aren't concealed – that run through most of the palace. They let the servants of the castle move about freely without being seen and lets them keep up with their individual jobs, ostensibly without their getting in the way of the nobles, but it's more to keep the nobles out of the servants' way. The Hylian nobles, with a few good exceptions, are generally a useless bunch of people so caught up with pretension and frivolity that they've – in my opinion at least – lost touch with reality. Most of them fled Castletown as fast as they could three years ago when the Moblins attacked and took over. Many of those who didn't either died or were enslaved along with everyone else. There were two different types of reactions to this. They either learned something from the ordeal – these are the ones who have become the exceptions to the nobility rule – or it only served to make them more bitter and condescending towards the "common-folk" of Hyrule – they've concluded for some reason that the aforementioned lesser-folk _owe_ them something for the time they spent among them.

 _These_ are the nobles that I can't stand and generally speaking if I'm at the heart of a scandal of some sort (which I usually am) then odds are the other person at the heart of it is one of those. They all hate me with a passion equalled only by my own distaste for them, but in general they stay out of my way. They're kind of scared of me. I might have lost my temper with one or two of them back when I first entered into the world of Hylian politics. Kind of hard to keep control when they're making snide comments about either my heritage or my hat.

I take both of those things kind of personally.

Needless to say after I fought, and won two or three duels (since _apparently_ it's improper to just jump them right then and there), they stopped taking me up on them and started backing down. Which makes them more bitter about the whole situation but which suits me just fine.

I suppose it's partly because of that that they jumped on Agahnim's band wagon so quickly. I never bothered to hide my intense dislike of the mage nor he of me. The battle lines there were drawn pretty quickly.

Luckily for me, of the nobles who count, at least half of them sided with me. Not to mention the Sheikah and Zelda herself. Plus most of the servants like Marni (that is, the ones who are actually civilian servants, not undercover Sheikah). You wouldn't think it, but the people who work in the palace are every bit as politically savvy as the politicians and by nature of the fact that they go everywhere, serve everyone, and see everything … they can be a terribly useful ally to have.

Have I mentioned how much I hate politics?

It's like … take every single pet peeve I have, roll it all up into a bundle, and you'll have politics.

It's one of the few areas on which Hunter and I disagree entirely. Hunter loves it. He's in his element when we're here at the castle and he and Zelda together is enough to drive Neesha and I insane. They spin all kinds of schemes and plots and counter-plots … it's so complicated. I like Gerudo politics.

In Hylian politics, you say "do it" and they say "yes" but they really mean "all right, but you owe me for it and in ten years I'll pull up this favour out of nowhere and you'll have to sell me your soul to repay me."

In Gerudo politics I say, "do it" and they say "No." And they mean "no".

See? Simple.

No soul-selling involved.

A door further down the hallway opens and I panic and press myself flat against the wall as a yawning man with a broom steps into the hallway. He heads in my direction and for a brief, panic-stricken moment I think he's going to spot me, but he turns away almost immediately and moves through another door, leaving the hallway once again deserted.

I sage against the wall with a relieved sigh and thank the goddesses.

Man what I wouldn't give for one of the transformation masks right now. Not that Mikau or Darmani could really help me out here, but the little Deku Scrub could. Nobody would notice him running around …

But they're back where they should be, and I wouldn't take them back for the world. They asked for rest and now they have it. It would be unfair to take that back from them now.

So I'm on my own.

On the upside, the Servants' Paths are more or less deserted right now. Most of the servants are likely asleep with the rest of the world. Only a few, like Marni, are up, doing their chores while everyone else sleeps. Which means that short of an accidental bumping into someone, the odds of anyone catching me are slim.

I feel a twinge of smugness.

"I am the King of Sneak," I tell myself with a grin.

"The King of Fools, maybe," says a soft voice from right behind me. I just managed to strangle a yelp into a gasp as I jump and whirl around, my hand going for my weapon. Unimpressed green eyes stare, narrowed, back at me. "I'm pretty sure the note said 'go to the desert' not 'go to the Golden Palace.'" I release the hilt of my scimitar and narrow my own eyes right back at him.

"Oh gee, you mean the note with the blatant lies on it? The one that said 'gone out for a bit'? And 'we'll meet you there'? That note?" I demand in a hiss. "You could have at least told us the truth, Dad. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Nice to know you think we're idiots."

"First off," he replies flatly, "we didn't lie. We _did_ go out for a bit. There's nothing false about that. And secondly, for someone who's not an idiot, you sure have a tendency for idiocy sometimes. You're interfering on a mission that was not assigned to you – not to mention compromising it – _and_ you ignored a specific order from a Superior Agent."

"Yeah? Well how about a 'first off' of my own. First off, don't hand me that bullshit about lies versus half-truths. I am the _king_ of half-truths dad, and I can out-dishonest you any day. And as for interfering on a mission that wasn't assigned to me, I may be a Sheikah, but I'm not an active one so it doesn't apply to me. Same goes for ignoring an order from a Superior. Bruiser's not my Superior he's my uncle. And you're not either, you're my Dad. So as far as I'm concerned you can take your 'order' and jam it. I've never taken an order a day in my life and I've no intentions of starting now." I look him up and down, taking in the rather large bloodstains on his side and shoulder and raising an eyebrow. Bruiser's nowhere in sight, either. "Besides," I add. "It looks like this mission was compromised long before we got here." He gives me the _I'm-letting-it-go-for-now-but-you're-not-off-the-hook-not-by-a-long-shot-buddy_ look and does just that.

"What we?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "Where's Hunter and Neesha?"

"Got me," I answer, with a concerned frown and a shrug as I turn around and start off down the corridor again. "Agahnim knew we were coming. He split us up." I pause and look around. "I'm kinda lost here. Do you know the way?" He raises an eyebrow at me.

"You're in love with this girl and you don't even know where her room is?" I roll my eyes.

"She's not in her room anymore Dad," I answer, glaring at him, "she's in the dungeons. Agahnim caught her." He blinks in surprise then abruptly runs his hand through his hair with a disgruntled noise.

"Dammit," he hisses. "That's just typical. Yeah I know the way. Follow me." He casts a glance over at me again as he pushes by to lead the way. "What happened to your head?" He asks. I rub the back of it and wince.

"It had a brief, steamy affair with a stone floor," I answer. "And then the floor's husband, Mr. Cast-Iron-Frying-Pan came home." Dad raises an eyebrow at me and I sigh. "I don't really want to talk about it, okay? It's been a long day." I give him the once over. "What about you?"

"You weren't the only ones Agahnim was ready for," he says.

"That much I figured," I answer. "But what happened? And why isn't Bruiser with you?" Dad sighs and a troubled look crosses his face.

"We made it to Zelda's floor without a problem," he says, "but we were ambushed before we got anywhere near her room. A dozen or so Hylian guards. I didn't really get the time to count. They had archers hidden somewhere." He points to his side and arm. "We split up, and so did they. The idea was to lose them and then keep on heading for the princess. We had to get her out, one way or the other. Well, I only just managed to lose the ones tailing me. I haven't seen Bruiser in close to a half-hour now. I've no idea where he went. Here's hoping he had better luck than me finding Zelda." He stops at a door to our right and slides it open slowly, taking a quick peek out.

"All clear," he says, then gestures me through. I step out of the Servants' Paths and into a stone stairwell that spirals downwards. "Three floors to the dungeons," Dad says. "And from there it becomes a guessing game until we find her cell."

"What about Hunter and Neesha and Bruiser?" I ask as we start downwards.

"With any luck, we'll find them on the way to Zelda," Dad answers, avoiding my gaze. "They're likely headed there too, right?"

"And if we don't?" I ask, frowning at him. He doesn't answer. "Dad?" I prompt. He tries to keep moving but I grab his arm and force him to look at me. "And if we don't find them?" I repeat. He holds my gaze for a moment then shakes his head.

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan,_ " he says quietly, turning away and continuing down the stairs. He continues to avoid my gaze. "'The quest before the conquered.'"

I freeze in mid-step and stare at his back, as my blood runs cold at the implications of that phrase.

There are times when the Sheikah seem more hard-hearted than any Gerudo.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan,_ " Hunter hissed to himself keeping his eyes on the ground and focusing on the phrase he had been repeating until the sounds had lost all meaning. " _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan. Sen quis lodanan sen vennan._ "

 _First Zelda,_ he told himself. _First Zelda. Then the desert._ Then _Thomas._ _“Sen quis lodanan sen vennan_." _The mission first. Focus on the mission. You can't be distracted. You can't let yourself be distracted. Dad is dead. Uncle Bray probably is too. Maybe even Link._ Someone _needs to complete the mission._

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan_."

_Focus …_

He raised his eyes from the ground and glared at Thomas' back.

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan._ " He didn't know what had happened to Thomas – didn't understand what could possibly take one of his best friends and turn them into a cold-blooded murderer – but the instant that arrow had cut into his father he had ceased caring.

He now believed beyond a doubt that it _was_ Thomas behind the kidnappings.

He briefly wondered if Thomas had murdered Malon as well. And maybe even the rest.

That would explain why the Sages couldn't sense them anymore.

" _Sen quis lodanan sen_ —"

A sharp, horrified cry interrupted him. His head snapped up as the soldier who had just rounded the corner ahead of them stumbled back out, clutching his stomach. The group froze in surprise. Thomas frowned darkly, crossing his arms and shifting his weight.

"What's the –" The soldier toppled over suddenly, his hands falling free of his stomach and revealing a bright red gash. Thomas tensed up. "Dammit." He hissed.

There was a scream from the back of the group. Everyone whirled around just in time to see a flash of silver and another soldier fall. But that was it. There was nothing else down the corridor.

"Form ranks!" Thomas shouted. "Guard the prisoners!" As the soldiers moved to do as he said, the torches along the walls flickered and dimmed. "Dammit!" Thomas hissed again. He raised his hand and spoke another sharp word and the torches brightened for the briefest of instants. Before much more could happen, however, the shadows they cast surged up, and over them, extinguishing them with a brief hiss. The corridor was plunged into darkness. Hunter and Neesha instinctively moved back to back, though the position did them little good with their hands tied as they were and their weapons removed.

Without warning a groan and a thud was heard from their left. Then another from their right. They were aware of brief disturbances in the dark from all around them, quick, precise, eating away at the circle of guards around them until Hunter and Neesha were painfully aware of the fact that they stood exposed and open to whatever it was picking them off in the dark.

Footsteps sounded in the dark.

The torches sputtered back to life as suddenly as they went out and left Hunter and Neesha blinking in surprise at the source of the attack.

Impa, Sage of Shadow stood panting over the bodies of the soldiers, clutching a bloodied katana blade in her hand.

"Impa!" Hunter gasped. He craned his neck around, peering at the bloodied soldiers. Thomas wasn't among them. "What happened to –"

"Gone," Impa said flatly, moving over to Hunter and Neesha to cut their bonds. "Traitor _and_ a coward, and he never used to be either."

"Are you all right?" Neesha asked as Impa sliced through the ropes binding her hands. She frowned at the Sheikan leader. "You look ready to pass out." It was true. Though there was no evidence of wounds on the Sage's body, her hands were trembling and a line of sweat stood out on her brow. Impa nodded.

"I'll be fine, little one," she said, sheathing her katana again. "I've been poisoned is all."

"Poisoned!" Hunter cried, whirling on her.

"Lower your voice," Impa chided. "I said I'll be fine. I'm the Sage of Shadow, remember? I'm more resistant to poison than most. Give it some time to finish working its way through my system and I'll be good as new. Now come on. We can't dally here." But Hunter didn't move right away.

"Impa …" He said thickly. "Dad is …" Impa's face softened suddenly and she laid a comforting hand on Hunter's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

"I know, Hunter," she said softly. "I found him." Hunter looked down, suddenly looking more like a little boy than a grown man.

"It was Thomas," he whispered. "He just …"

"Thomas has much to answer for," Impa said steadily, taking Hunter's chin and forcing him to look up at her. "And he will. One way or another we will get to the bottom of it. But right now, Hunter, you need to be strong. Your father was a great man, and one of the best agents I've ever known, and I swear to you we will mourn him properly later. But right now …"

" _Sen quis lodanan sen vennan_ ," Hunter said, almost too quiet to hear. Impa nodded slowly, squeezing his shoulder again.

"Good," she said. "Now follow me."

They moved out of the ring of bodies and headed further down the corridor, Neesha close on their heels.

She frowned to herself and made a mental note to ask Link what the Hell _sen quis lodanan sen vennan_ meant.

***

##  **Chapter 4 (cont.)**

"You go left, I'll go right."

"Right."

"No _I'm_ going right."

"You're being an idiot."

"Well do _you_ want to go right?"

"Link."

"What?"

"Just shut up and go. I'll follow your lead."

I flash him a smart-aleck grin and throw myself around the corner, scimitar out, and to the left. Dad follows me out and heads to the right. The three guards barely have time to register the fact that we're attacking them before they're down on the ground and out.

"I thought you were going right," Dad says, wiping off his blade and frowning at me.

"Me? I thought you wanted it." He throws his hands into the air and rolls his eyes.

"Why?" He asks no one in particular. "Why am I cursed with a smart-ass for a son?"

"Because at some point in your life," I say with a smirk, "you were a smart-ass son. And then your dad probably prayed to the Goddesses – just like you do _all_ the time – that you'd have a son just like you who would put you through everything you put him through. And from the looks of things, the Goddesses like you about as much as they like me."

"Which is to say not at all."

"Precisely," I agree. "And for the record, pray as hard as you want, but I'm Gerudo. You're going to have nothing but grand _daughters_ for the next hundred years or more. How're your wounds holding up?"

"Fine," he says. "The arrows didn't go deep and I bandaged them fast enough to prevent any serious blood loss. You?"

"I feel like a Goron martial artist has moved into my head and started practicing on my brain."

"Well that explains a lot."

"Now who's a smart-ass?"

"Like father like son," he answers glibly. I roll my eyes.

"Please don't say that. I like to hold out some hope for myself." He aims a punch at my shoulder that I dodge with a grin. "Are you leading the way to the dungeons or are you trying to take me out?" I demand.

"Little bit of column A …"

"Ha, ha, very funny. Which way Mr. Comedian?"

"Left."

"Right."

"Please don't start."

"Like father like son," I throw back at him. He rolls his eyes.

"You know I hate it when you do this, right?"

"If you didn't, I wouldn't do it, now would I?"

"You're spending too much time in the desert."

"I haven't spent _any_ time at the desert recently as a matter of fact, and I'm actually starting to miss it."

"Farore forbid," Dad says, rolling his eyes. "Well you'll never get back there if we can't find Zelda and the rest of them."

"So which way then?" I ask as we approach the next turn.

"Right."

"Left … sorry, I couldn't resist."

"All right, seriously," Dad says as we round the corner. "We need to shut up now. We're going to get ourselves c—" He straightens abruptly and tenses.

"What?" I demand.

"Shhh," he hisses, waving at me. "Someone's coming. Quick! Back around the corner!" We both slide back around the corner we'd just turned and hold our breath. I can hear them now too. More than one of them. A moment later the footsteps give way to voices. I blink in surprise.

I know those voices.

"Where's Mel?" Thomas of the Sheikah demands, his tone cold and flat.

"I left her back with Sheik," Bel answers.

"Zelda." Thomas corrects her.

"Sheik," Bel retorts stubbornly. Thomas doesn't react the second time.

"We need to get back there. Impa's got the other two, but I don't think she realizes their worth yet. We might be lucky and she may take them with her to rescue the princess. With any luck we may be able to capture them all again before the night is over."

"What about Link? Isn't he here?"

"Somewhere," Thomas agrees. "We'll deal with him when it comes to it. You know what our orders are. If he gets in the way, we kill him."

"Thomas!" Bel gasps, horrified.

"You know what happens if you disobey."

"Thomas … _please_ … Link's a friend. You may as well ask us to kill Hunter, or Sheik, or you."

"And I may yet," he answers flatly. "Do as you will, Bel, but you know …" Their voices fade and a moment later their footsteps do too. I release the breath I'd been holding but not with anything resembling relief. A kind of cold dread has settled into my stomach.

"Did … did I just hear what I thought I heard?" I ask. Dad shakes his head and moves for the corner.

"Looks like Talon, Ingo and Acqul were right," he answers, his voice heavy. "We've got a rogue Sheikah on our hands. Poor Dune …" We both lapse into silence as we slip down the hallway, following the sound of Thomas and Bel's footsteps, all traces of previous cheerfulness and flippancy gone.

Nothing like hearing old friends plotting to kill you to ruin a good mood.

At least they'll lead us straight to Zelda.

And if we're lucky, they may just lead us to the bottom of this whole mess.

Here's hoping.

It doesn't take us long to arrive. There's a short set of stairs leading down maybe half a flight, and at the bottom we can hear voices.

"Give it up, Sheik," says Mel tiredly. "Agahnim made the lock himself. Your powers won't work on it." Even from up here I can _feel_ the icy silence Zelda replies with. "Don't look at me like that! I _told_ you there's more going on here than you know, all right? I haven't got a choice in the – Thomas! What happened? Where are the other two?"

"Impa has them."

"But I thought you said she was down for the count."

"Yeah, well, apparently Sages are harder to kill than I counted on."

"You tried to kill her?" Bel cries. "Thomas! That wasn't part of the –"

"I had to do something permanent or she'd just come after us and get in the way again. Like she _has_ in case you hadn't noticed. Now shut up and listen. Agahnim needs _all_ seven maidens for any of this to work. We _need_ to get them back."

"Well how the Hell are we supposed to get them back from Impa?" Mel demands miserably. "Are _you_ planning on fighting her? She could kill all three of us before we even know she's there. I went with her once, on a mission a few years back. I've seen what she can do Thomas. It's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible with Agahnim's help," Thomas responded flatly. "Not quit whining." I look over at Dad, who holds up three fingers.

It's just them. There aren't any others.

"Well what about Link? He's here too, isn't he?"

I raise a questioning eyebrow at him, and he nods once, decisively.

Time to go.

"For the last time, we'll deal with him if it comes to it."

I step off the stairs and into the room, levelling my scimitar at Thomas's back.

"It's come to it," I say flatly. Thomas whirls around and meets my narrowed gaze.

"Link!" Zelda – in Sheik form – gasps. There's an opaque black shell around the lock on her cage door. No doubt Agahnim's addition.

"Get him!" Thomas shouts, leaping for me. Bel and Mel exchange a tortured look and follow more slowly, hanging back as I meet Thomas' blade with my own. He blocks my first thrust easily and parries it effortlessly, and I jump back, taken aback by the apparent skill he's demonstrating with it.

Of the three of them, I would have bet my life on Bel and Mel being the biggest threat. They aren't much individually – I could take either one of them out easily – but put them in a fight together and suddenly things aren't so easy. They work with a perfect synchronization that not even Neesha and I can match despite how much we've practiced together. When one parries, the other thrusts, when one thrusts, the other parries. One goes high, the other goes low. You dodge Bel's attack and step into Mel's. Their timing is perfect. It's insane.

But, surprisingly enough, it's Thomas who proves a problem.

He's blocking my thrusts with a speed he's never possessed before, and he's countering them with an accuracy I've never seen him use. I duck under one of the aforementioned counter-attacks and stare at him in surprise.

Understand that Thomas has never been much for fighting. It's just not his thing. I think it may have something to do with how _obsessed_ with fighting his sister was. There wasn't a day that went by where Ketari wasn't honing her own skills to perfection, and as tends to happen between siblings, one will not attempt what he knows the other is good at for fear of two things: a) the perception that he's only doing it to copy his sibling, and b) the chance that his sibling is and always will be better than him at it anyway. As a result, Thomas focused his attention on other things. Don't get me wrong, he knows how to fight – hard to find a person now-a-days who doesn't know _something_ about weapons and how to use them – but to be blunt, he's just not very good at it.

Apparently, however, his feelings toward me aren't the only things that've changed over the last three months, because if I'm not careful this fight isn't going to go my way.

Thanks be to Din, however, Dad steps in before the twins can jump into the fray and complicate things more, intercepting them with his own blade.

Goddess _dammit_ I want the Master Sword!

I haven't got half the reach with this scimitar, and to top it off I've only got one. I've been fighting with two for the last three months and you get used to that real fast.

I twist to the side and push Thomas's blade off course with my own, aiming for his kneecap with my foot while I'm at it. He leaps over the kick and pulls his blade off of mine. I meet it again as he brings it down and hold it there, pressing in close. Through the X made by our blade I meet his eyes.

I had intended to demand an explanation for why he's suddenly moved me and apparently everyone else from his Solstice List to his Hit List, but instead I find myself just staring at his eyes in shock.

They're normally a blue so bright its painful, but right now they're dull and flat instead. There's no shine, no real color …

… no life.

I've seen eyes like this before …

_… "M-Mr. Ingo? Is that you?"_

_He twists around and to his feet to see who's speaking to him. He spots me and gives me a once over that sends a shiver down my spine._

_I love how even though I have an adult body now, he's_ still _taller than me._

_"Do I … know you, boy?" He asks, scratching his cheek with the gold rupee in his hand. His eyes – normally sharp and eager as a hawk's – are dull. They look different. They look … dead … "You seem … familiar?"_

_And to think I hoped that this place at least would have escaped the darkness inflicted on Hyrule in the seven years I was in the Sacred Realm._

_Something is seriously not right here …_

_… I throw myself frantically out of the way of the huge axe as it crashes into the ground behind me, shattering the stone floor and sending chips screaming across my back._

_"Link!" Navi shrieks. "There's something different about this one!"_

_"Yeah, it hits harder!" I shout back caustically, scrambling to my feet and trying to manoeuvre around to the back of the Iron Knuckle. It's already recovered and is re-aiming its axe at me._

_Son-of-a-bitch is smaller and faster too._

_Gotta get that armour off it …_

_I push myself across the floor and twist out the way of its axe, ignoring the sting of shrapnel across my face and spin around and behind the damn thing. With a shout I push myself off the ground and reverse my grip on my sword, bringing it down, blade first on the base of the Iron Knuckle's neck._

_As far as I can tell, I didn't hurt it – which is just_ spectacular _– but I_ did _manage to snap the piece holding it's helm on and as it turns to face me, axe once again at the ready, it's helmet topples off and to the side, revealing a long red ponytail, and a startlingly familiar face._

_"Nabooru!" I gasp, frozen in place for a moment._

_Her eyes are blank, dead of recognition or even life, and she brings the axe down at me again._

_"LINK!" Navi shrieks …_

_… I hate this._

_I hate this, I hate this, I hate this._

_I've been trapped in this goddess forsaken world, reliving the same three days over and over and over, been dragged all over it by this nasty little rat with wings – who, I might add, is not even_ my _nasty little rat with wings – to free these four goddess-damned giants so they can stop their nasty little skull-kid friend from eating the world with his goddess-damned moon, not to_ mention _dealing with that freaky little mask salesman who screams and tries to kill me every time I tell him, "No, you creepy little bastard, I do_ not _have your stupid, ugly mask yet. Forgive me if it's a little more complicated than walking up to the Skull Kid and saying, 'hey buddy, can I have the source of all your evil power?'"_

_And for what?_

_For nothing, that's what._

_I fought the monsters, freed the giants, summoned them here …_

_And that_ damn skull-kid _is laughing at me._

_His plan is ruined. The moon is stopped._

_And still he laughs, as he floats up into the air._

_"What's wrong with his body?" Tatl says above me._

_I frown at the interruption of my pessimistic mental rant, but look at what she's pointing at anyway, and give a start when I do._

_Why is his body so limp?_

_The Mask suddenly gives a little jerk and the skull-kid falls free of it, his half-closed eyes blank and dead looking, not bright and lively like a skull-kid's should be._

_Several things click together in my head at once._

_I've been fighting the wrong battle all along … the skull-kid's not the one to blame. He was being used. A puppet on a string …_

_The Mask stays where it is and the laughter continues as the skull-kid's limp body strikes the ground hard. Tael cries out and streaks over to him, but Tatl stays above me …_

_I should have known._

_Nothing that ugly is ever a good thing._

_At least now I know my real enemy …_

_What I wouldn't give, for my adult body and the Master Sword right about now … this only goes downhill from here …_

"Get a good look, _Hero_ ," Thomas snarls, his face less than an inch from mine. "Because I'm the last thing you'll ever see." His arm streaks into my peripheral vision but before I can react he's buried a dagger in my side. I gasp and stumble sideways, crashing into Zelda's cell, just managing to keep my feet. I grind my teeth at the explosion of pain and tighten my grip on my scimitar.

"Link!" Sheik cries. I force my attention away from the knife in my side and twist out of the way of Thomas' attack. His weapon misses me by a mile and slides between the bars of Zelda's cell. Zelda, being the resourceful woman that she is, is read for him. Before he can recover his sword, she snatches his wrist and twists. He winces at the pain but refuses to drop his sword.

Doesn't matter.

She's bought me enough time to even the odds.

I move around Thomas, ripping my bow off my back as I go, pulling the light arrow out of my quiver. I nock the it to my bow and pull the string back, taking aim at the ebony shell surrounding the lock.

"NO!" Thomas shouts, ripping his arm free of Sheik's grip. He comes at me again just as I release the arrow. The black shell shatters beneath the glowing arrow and the next instant is surrounded by a purplish light. I almost can't hear the distinctive sound of the lock opening over Thomas's snarl as he comes at me again, but he's not on me long. The next instant the door is thrown open and Sheik rips out, throwing himself between me and Thomas.

"Tag," I manage with a weak grin at Sheik, despite the burning in my side, "you're it." His (or her if you prefer) crimson eyes crinkle at the edges with the smile that's hidden beneath his shawl for a brief instant before he throws himself at Thomas.

When it comes to fighting, Zelda – or rather Sheik, as she never fights in princess form – has gotten better over the last three years, but not amazing. Time for practicing the art of fighting is rare when you're the princess of Hyrule, but she does what she can when she can. However, what he lacks in skill, the ever-amazing Sheik makes up for in another department: speed.

Case in point: she's on Thomas before the latter can even recover from being thrown backwards. Though Thomas is definitely the superior fighter in this case, Sheik is twisting and tumbling too fast for him to catch, and on _top_ of it, she's pulling off cheap shots that you can only learn from a Sheikah, hitting weak points, wounds, and soft spots with calculated precision.

It's only a matter of time before Thomas lands a hit, though, and Sheik won't be fast for much longer once that happens. I grind my teeth hard and pull the dagger out of my side with a hiss. I don't know what hurts more: the fact that there was a dagger in my side, or the fact that the guy who put it there used to be a friend. I throw it to the side with a pain-filled gasp, then pull another arrow out of my quiver. Not the Light arrow this time. The Ice arrow.

Thomas is getting closer to hitting Zelda every second, and Dad's already hurt and is wearing out. He's going easy on the twins, he doesn't want to kill them, but it's costing him. The dagger wound in my side is only going to get worse if I don't get it bandaged up and we still need to find the others _and_ make our way out of the palace.

It's time to end this.

I nock the arrow to the bow and raise it, aiming at Thomas.

A freezing rush surges through my body and into the arrow as its tip explodes with frost.

"Sheik! Move!" I shout. She does, rolling to the side without question as I release the arrow. Thomas has just enough time to register the fact that I've shot at him before the arrow pierces his shoulder and throws him backwards, onto the floor. He cries out in pain and clutches at the arrow as a layer of frost creeps over his shoulder, originating at the wound. Won't be long before his lips turn blue and he starts to shake. I nock my bow again, with a normal arrow this time, and take aim at his prone form.

"Bel! Mel!" I shout. They both leap away from Dad and spare me a glance, freezing when they realize what's happened. "Weapons down," I snarl. They obey, instantly. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were relieved. "Now," I say, turning my gaze back to Thomas. "What in Nayru's name—" But all that's left of him is an already fading swirl of darkness and he's gone, my arrow laying discarded on the floor. I blink in surprise.

"We're sorry," Bel whispers, and she and Mel turn as one and bolt for the stairs. All three of us watch them go without pursuing. Once their footsteps have faded, I let my knees finally give out. I would have hit the floor too, had Sheik not bolted and caught me, slinging one arm around his neck and shouldering his way in under it to keep me up.

"Are you all right?" Dad asks, frowning at me in concern.

"Just peachy," I answer, putting my bow and arrow away with a wince and returning my hand to my side. "Hell, who wouldn't be after being stabbed in the side by the guy you used to play ball with." He doesn't say anything, but continues to stare at me in concern from the left while Sheik does it from the right. I sigh bitterly. "I'm hurt," I say, "I'll likely need stitches and Nabooru is going to kill me and Neesha when she sees it, but I'm not dying." I look down at Sheik. "I'd be doing better though if you were a girl," I point out. "No offence, but Sheik's just not as fun to hug as Zelda." Sheik rolls his eyes.

"If I was Zelda I wouldn't be able to hold you up," he retorts easily. "We can say hello properly once we're out of the palace." He shifts my weight and pauses. "Why Neesha?" He asks suddenly.

"What?" I ask, blinking.

"Why is Neesha in trouble if you're hurt?"

"Because I'm not supposed to let him _get_ hurt," says a familiar voice from our left. Coming down the stairs on the side of the room opposite the one Dad and I arrived from is Neesha, Hunter, and Impa. I feel a thrill of relief and resist the urge to sag in relief against Sheik. They're safe. Neesha frowns darkly at me, eyeing my bloodied side. "What happened?" She asks, none of her usual brusqueness in her tone. I frown, taking in the dark expressions on everyone's faces. Hunter avoids my gaze entirely and Neesha shakes her head. I stare at them, suddenly feeling like I've shot myself with the ice arrow.

"Hunter, what is it?" I ask. "What's happened?" Dad's noticed it as well and has gone stiff.

"Where's Bruiser?" He demands.

***

We worked our way out of the palace in silence. It wasn't half as hard as I'd expected it to be. The way point I'd left with Farore's Wind let us bypass most of the palace, and between the Servants' Paths, secret passageways, and Impa's Shadow powers, we managed to avoid all except the odd group of guards, which were dispatched easily enough. Thomas, Bel and Mel made no more appearances. I'm not surprised. An Ice Arrow takes more than a bandage to fix.

It's hard to be sorry for shooting him, now. Now that I know what he's done.

But it's hard to be sorry I didn't finish the job too. The dead look in his eyes comes back to me every time I start to think about what he did to Bruiser, and I have to wonder …

How much of it was him?

We took the secret passage behind the Throne that leads through the sewers under the city and from there to the Temple of Time. From there Zelda jumped to the Sacred Realm, which was apparently part of the plan since Agahnim can't get to her there, promising Impa up and down that she'd stay there, then whispering a quick promise to me to meet us at the desert later. I would have taken two trips by Ocarina to get Hunter, Neesha and Dad and me to the desert, but we couldn't leave the pendant behind, and it was back at the shop, so instead we decided to take the long way. Impa got us safely through the streets and to the shop. We grabbed the pendant and jumped into the cart that Dad had used to smuggle Hunter in earlier that night. Hunter, Neesha and I all crouched down under the blankets in the back and Dad pulled his cowl up tight against the wind. Impa told the guard at the gate that we were on Sheikah business and he let down the bridge for us, then she snuck her way back to the Temple of Time and hopefully made the shift to the Sacred Realm as well.

The snow is finally letting up and between the clouds every now and then we can get a glimpse of the sunrise. No one's said a word since we said goodbye to Impa, and I doubt that's going to change any time soon. Even Neesha looks like she's been punched in the stomach and the Gerudo have a different view on death – particularly death in battle – than most. I can't see all of Dad's face from where he's huddled in his cloak against the finally dying wind, reigns in hand, but what I can is drawn and tired and looks a lot older than I remember. Hunter's sitting across from me, his back stiff and straight, staring out at nothing in particular without blinking. I want to tell him about Thomas … about the dead look in his eyes, but this isn't the time. He won't listen to a word of it right now, and I'll have to be careful about picking when I do talk to him about it. By the time we hit the desert he'll have worked himself up a hatred of Thomas so strong it'll take a miracle to break through it.

Hunter reacts to rage differently than I do. He has a different idea of vengeance and justice. If you've given me a reason to give in to fury – and admittedly it doesn't take much for me – then I'll indulge myself right then and there in a fit of temper. I'll scream and rail and rampage until I've worn myself out but then it's over. Neesha's the same way. So was Bruiser.

But Hunter … Hunter's rage is different. It's quiet and inward and cold. He doesn't indulge it, he doesn't throw a fit, he keeps it inside and it doesn't go away until he's acted on it. He'll let it eat away at him until the time is right. He'll bide his time – as long as it takes – until he can make you pay for whatever it is you did. And it won't be cheap. Not by a long shot.

I can't fault him for it. I can't fault him for hating Thomas. The larger part of me hates Thomas right now too. And Bel and Mel. What they've done has gone beyond betrayal. Beyond murder even. I can't fault Hunter for wanting to get them back for killing Bruiser. How can I fault him for it when I can't even promise myself that I won't kill Thomas the next time I see him?

But still that little, nagging doubt …

It might not have been Thomas. That look … that's not the look of a man in control of himself.

His fighting skill … that wasn't his. His style wasn't even Sheikan.

Bruiser was as much a father for Thomas as he was for Hunter. As he was for me, for Nayru's sake! That Thomas could just … murder him like that, in cold blood …

I just can't …

It doesn't make any sense, though I suppose these things rarely do.

And if I'm right … if he _is_ being controlled …

I know the snake who's doing it.

I shake my head bitterly and push myself into an upright position, staring out the back of the wagon towards Castletown, barely visible from here.

So this is it then.

The gauntlet's been thrown.

The battle lines are drawn.

Agahnim's made the fatal mistake of declaring war, not only on me, but on everything, and everyone I love …

It's time to make him understand that the price for that is more than he'll ever be able to afford.

My eyes narrow at the horizon.

It's begun with blood on his hands …

… it'll end with blood on mine.


	5. You're a Council, Now?

#  **Chapter 5 and a Brief Interlude**

##  **Chapter 5**

"Nabooru, my bestest best buddy in the whole wide world …"

"Whatever it is, I'm thinking I don't want to hear it."

"You'd be right," I say, grinning at her from my upside down position draped over the throne. "Because I'm about to remind you of what day it is today."

"Your birthday?"

"You know perfectly well that my birthday is in the summer."

"I live in the desert, Highness, it's always summer. Unless, of course, it's the rainy season."

"Which it is," I point out. "And my name's not _highness_."

"You let Rue call you highness."

"I don't _let_ Rue call me anything. She just does. I'm not about to tell her otherwise."

"Awwww … is the poor little baby afraid of an 80 year old woman?"

"First off, she's not 80, she's 78. Second off, damn straight I'm afraid of her. So are you. And third off, you're changing the subject in an attempt – that is as desperate as it is pathetic I might add – to distract me from the original topic of this conversation."

"That I'm your bestest buddy?"

"Bestest _best_ buddy, and no. That it's been _exactly_ three weeks since the day I gave you _exactly_ three weeks to have those pendants for me before I take matters into my own hands."

"So I'm not your bestest best buddy, is that what you're saying?"

"Nabooru, I'm serious."

"Could've fooled me."

I twist myself around right side up again and wait a moment for the blood to rush from my head and the dizziness to pass.

"A deal's a deal, Nabooru. I waited patiently like a good little boy—"

"Patiently? HA!"

"—and I've yet to see so much as a sparkle from those pendants. I'm not waiting any longer."

"Blame the Sheikah," she says easily, stretching out on the dais like a cat. "They're the ones who were supposed to get the Pendant of Power."

"Well I don't exactly have the Pendant of Courage either, now do I? So don't tell _me_ to blame the Sheikah. I blame _all_ of you. Together."

"And what can you do, then, Link, that fully-trained teams of Gerudo and Sheikah cannot?"

"Are you not even worried that you haven't even heard _back_ from the girls you sent out?" I demand, frowning at her. "After what happened at the Tower of Nayru?"

"To worry is to doubt their abilities," Nabooru returns stubbornly – as she has every time I've asked her that. "They are experienced, competent women and will complete the mission to the utmost of their abilities."

"And if they weren't good enough?"

"If they weren't," she says bluntly, "then you won't be."

"You know, your faith touches me. Right here." I say, a mock-touched expression on my face.

"Well it's true," she says mule-headedly. "If four Elite couldn't get that pendant back, what odds do three kids have?"

"We're not kids, Nabooru."

"Yes you are."

"No. We're not."

"Yes. You are."

"No, we're – whatever! It doesn't matter! I'm going and that's that!" I cry, crossing my arms and glaring at her.

"I'll just forbid Neesha to go. You won't go without her."

"Well I'll forbid you to forbid her to go."

"You can't."

"Can so, I'm King."

"Fine. Then as a Sage, I forbid you to forbid me to forbid her to go."

"First off, as a Sage you can't forbid me from doing _anything_. Second, if you're going to be like this, I'm just going to _sneak_ out, like I _always_ do. For Din's sake, Nabooru! Every second we waste here is a step further from ever finding the people who've been kidnapped! It's a step further from finding out what the _Hell_ is going on with Thomas, Bel and Mel! _And_ it's a step further from getting my hands around Agahnim's throat!"

"And at last we're at the heart of the matter," Nabooru says, her eyes glinting craftily all of a sudden. "This whole thing is about what he did to Bruiser, isn't it?" I gape at her for a minute, then narrow my eyes.

"This whole thing is about a lot more than Bruiser," I say flatly. "But yes. Bruiser is a large part of it." She shakes her head but remains quiet, and for that, I'm grateful. It's easy enough to joke around and smile about other things, but I'm still not exactly ready to talk about the subject of Bruiser, _or_ his death with any but a select group of people.

"Listen kid," Nabooru says softly after a moment. "I'm sorry about what happened to him. I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but it's true just the same. I kinda liked the big guy. He was all right for a Sheikah." She peers at me out of the corner of her eye. "You're not going to cry or anything are you? The rest of the Sages will be here today and I don't want you embarrassing me or anything in front of them. I've been bragging to Impa about how much I toughened you up and the last thing I need is you to go and make a liar out of me." I roll my eyes. Typical Gerudo. It's impossible for them to be sensitive for more than three seconds at any given time.

"No I'm not going to – wait. Will it make you give in and let me go after the pendants without a fight?" Nabooru gives a short laugh.

"It might force me to beat the living crap out of you, but no, as for giving in, no."

"You know I'm going to win this in the end, anyway, Nabooru. Just give it up and let me go."

"Fine," she says slyly, folding her arms behind her head and laying down on the ground, "but you're taking the Elite."

Of all the words, in any language, ever … I hate those five the most.

***

"Highness!"

I look up from where I've pinned Nabooru to the ground and pause in the act of raising my fist to glance over at the door.

"Amplissa? Kinda busy right now. What's up?"

"Just thought you might want to know that your little Sheikah friend's on his way over here at three hundred miles an hour and he looks about ready to chew rocks. I'm not sure but I think I heard him muttering something about killing you." She raises an eyebrow. "You _do_ know that under Gerudo law I can kill him for threatening you like that, right?"

"No! No killing!" I say flatly, jumping up off Nabooru. "He doesn't mean it, for Nayru's sake."

That's a blatant lie.

I'm pretty sure he's got every intention of killing me at the moment.

"Have it your way," Amplissa says with a shrug. "Just thought you'd want to know."

"What'd you do?" Nabooru demands as she picks herself up off the floor and Amplissa disappears through the door again. I straighten out my hat and frown.

"Well … you know how Dune and Impa arrived this morning?"

"Yeah, so?" Nabooru demands.

"Well … I might have sort have told Dune my suspicions about Thomas."

"So what?" Nabooru demands. "That woman could use some hope right about now." Trust a Gerudo to consider 'your son is being mind-controlled by an evil wizard who's forcing him to kidnap and kill people' good news, though I suppose it _is_ better than Thomas doing all that stuff of his own will.

"Yeah, well, I might have _also_ asked her to be the one to talk to Hunter about the possibility." Nabooru winces. "Yeah," I say. "Mind like a Gerudo, heart like a Hylian. And Hunter knows it. If _anyone_ can convince him to give Thomas the benefit of a doubt, it's her. Now, if you don't mind, we can continue this … debate about me taking the Elite some other time, because right now, I need to find a hiding place before he actually—"

"Too late," interrupts a flat voice from the doorway.

"Dammit," I hiss, "hey! Where do you think _you're_ going?" I demand as Nabooru moves towards the door.

"You know, as much as I enjoy watching your little schemes blow up in your face like this, I have to go assemble the Elite so they'll be ready to go with you to the Towers after we talk with the rest of the Sages."

"Hey!" I shout after her. "I said NO ELITE!" But she's already gone, leaving me with nothing to look at but Hunter's completely unimpressed expression. I'm suddenly aware of how alone I am in this room.

You know, normally I can't even _breathe_ without the Elite around me.

And now, when I could actually _use_ some over-protective bodyguards …

"Uh … hi, Hunter!" I say brightly.

"You know, Link," he says, leaning almost casually up against the doorframe, "there are cheap shots. And then there are _cheap shots_. And what you just put me through?" He shakes his head and I wince.

"Hunter, come on. Don't look at me like that," I say. "You would have had to speak with her sooner or later, all right? I just sped things up a bit." He frowns.

"For what _possible_ purpose?" He demands. "Was that some kind of misguided attempt at making me feel better? Because it didn't work, Link." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Give me some credit, here," I return. "I know you better than _that._ I wasn't _trying_ to make you feel better."

"Then what in Din's name were you trying to do, Link?" He demands, glaring at me. "Farore! She came in there … almost already in tears over something you told her about Thomas and apologizing up and down for happened to Dad, and …" He cuts himself off and grinds his teeth. I wait for him to regain control before I say anything.

"Fact of the matter is, Hunter," I say as gently as I can manage, "I was trying to remind you that you're not the only one here who's got something at stake. Look, I know what you're going through, all right? Because I'm going through it too. Farore, Hunter, Bruiser was the closest damn thing I _had_ to a father until three years ago. And even after I got Dad back, it didn't change a goddess-damned _thing_ about the way I felt about Bruiser. You're not the only one who misses him. And you're not the only one who's angry that he's gone." I give him a pleading look. "But if there's even a _possibility_ that it wasn't really Thomas … Hunter, we've already lost Bruiser. I don't want to lose anyone else, all right?" He shakes his head and won't look at me.

"Why didn't you tell me about Thomas?" He asks after a moment. "About the mind-control?" I cross my arms and lean back against the arm of the throne.

"Because a) I can't be sure," I answer easily, "and b) you wouldn't have listened to me even if I was. You know as well as I do that we have a history of disagreement when it comes to whether or not certain people are redeemable. I couldn't have convinced you of it, and then we'd probably have just wound up wanting to kill each other. We're both a little touchy right now and I just didn't think it was a good idea. Bruiser wouldn't have wanted us to fight over it, so I sent someone else to fight over it with you."

"Yeah, Thomas' _mother_. Because I'm going to fight _her_ on it."

"At no point during this discussion did I deny it was cheap of me," I return easily. "But it was necessary one way or the other."

"Emotional blackmail?" He asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," I respond. "Emotional blackmail. The best kind as a matter of fact." He shakes his head again.

"Whatever," he says. "You're not forgiven for it."

"If that's the way you feel," I answer cautiously.

"And I'm not promising anything when it comes to Thomas."

"Wasn't really expecting you to." He meets my gaze and I raise an eyebrow at him. "But …" I prompt. He sighs.

"But for Dune's sake I'll at least wait until we can confirm you're stupid mind-control theory," he finishes. "And for the record, you're a stupid bastard and I hate you." I offer him a grin that's more of a peace-offering than anything else.

"Love you too, buddy," I say. "Now come. Let's go get Neesha and pick out a nice room for the Council of Sages."

"You're a council, now?" He asks as I approach him, being careful to keep an arm's length between us, just in case.

"Not really," I answer with a grin. "I just sort of made it up to make us sound important …"

***

I can feel the last vestiges of the tattered pieces of good mood I've managed to somehow desperately cling to the last few days slipping through my fingers as I look around the room.

The last time the lot of us were all together like this was for the farewell party, three months ago, before we took off over the mountains. The fact that most of us are here together again just highlights the absence of the ones who aren't …

Saria's customary seat beside Darunia is conspicuously empty. Laruto is not giggling from her mother's lap at the faces her dad is making at her. Thomas, Bel, Mel, and Goron Link aren't hovering around the door alternating between begging to be let in and complaining that Neesha, Malon (who doesn't exactly have an authority figure in the room to tell her to get out except maybe Zelda, and royal or no, Malon's not about to listen to Zelda) and Hunter get to take part but they don't.

What we have instead is a room filled with hunched shoulders and long faces. Ruto and Acqul are seated as close as they can get and still be within the bounds of propriety and looking absolutely miserable. Acqul is studiously avoiding looking at Dune who's returning the favour in kind. Dune's grey hair looks a little paler than before and there are lines on her face I don't remember being there. Darunia's stooped – something he never was before – and his customary hello beating lacked its usual enthusiasm. Karun's not looking much better beside him. Impa's face is devoid of emotion, as per usual, but even there you can see a little something new in her posture. Some indescribable grief that wasn't there before. Hunter's wearing a similar expression to her right and so is Dad, to her left. At the moment they probably look more like father and son than Dad and me.

The only people in this room who don't look any different than usual, save for the serious expressions on their faces, are Rue, Nabooru, and Neesha, but the Gerudo mentality doesn't leave itself open as a rule to anything that might be perceived as weakness, and grief, fear and concern are on that list.

Which isn't to say they don't care. Far from it. In fact every time Nabooru looks at Saria's empty chair a barely visible wince flashes across her face for the briefest of instants, and the _exact_ same expression crosses Neesha's whenever she looks at Hunter. The Gerudo aren't immune to grief and concern, they've just made a life around resisting those things, and there's no changing it.

Rue, on the other hand, is nothing but neutral expressions, except for the occasional sympathetic glance directed at anyone she suspects might need one.

"All right," Zelda says, hushing the sparse few conversations going on around the room as she settles into her chair, "I think that's everyone. Let's get started. Impa, Nabooru, could you give us an update?"

"Not much to tell," Nabooru sighs, idly flipping the end of her ponytail between her fingers. "I sent out a team of four Elite – four of the _best_ I might add – and that was three weeks ago. I haven't heard _jack_ from them since." Impa nods slowly from her end of the table.

"Six agents were sent to the Tower of Din," she says heavily. "None have reported back. I sent a few up there again with instructions to observe, but not enter. They say that there are definite signs of the team entering, but none whatsoever of them coming back out again."

"We tipped our hand by attacking the Tower of Farore too soon," Rue notes. "They've likely upped their security precautions since. They know we have one pendant and they don't want us getting the rest."

"Speaking of which," Karun rumbles, "where _is_ the Pendant of Wisdom?" Hunter reaches beneath his uniform and pulls out the delicate blue medallion. It spins for a brief moment, catching the light on its edges, before he drops it back under his uniform. The Sages blink in surprise and turn to me – not because they don't think Hunter should have it, just because they're surprised I don't. I meet their gaze evenly.

"Malon kept it. Malon hid it. Malon left it for him," I say simply. "I figured he should carry it." The sages all nod and turn their attention back to the subject at hand.

"All right then," Nabooru says, "so we've tipped our hand. We've screwed up. How do you propose we rectify that?" I roll my eyes when a few of those gathered look at me.

"You all _know_ what I think we should do," I answer, raising an eyebrow at them. "Do you really want me to say it?"

"It would be proper," Ruto says, raising an eyebrow right back at me. It's not even hard to bite back my usual scathing remark. She's been through enough lately. She doesn't need me heckling her.

"Well then, I'd say it comes down to if you want something done right …"

"Tell Link it can't be done then sit back and watch him do it," Hunter says, throwing me a slight smile.

"That's all well and good," Dune notes, "but Link, dear, there's only one of you. There are two Towers."

"So?" I ask.

"Dune's right," Acqul agrees. "We made a mistake by taking the Tower of Nayru on its own. All we did was give the other two towers warning. If we're going to try this again we're going to have to synchronize the attempts. Hit them both at the same time so neither one is totally prepared for us."

"Then we'll have to split up," Impa says.

"We?" Zelda asks in surprise. "As in we the people in this room?"

"Yes," Impa answers. "We've sent the best that could be found and they've failed." Nabooru frowns but Impa holds up a hand before she can say anything. "I know that it's not a sure thing," she says, "but there comes a time when reality must be faced. They've had three weeks. The mission is compromised. As good as they were, they weren't good enough. Which isn't to say that there's no hope for them. They may be captured, or simply injured, but we'll never know unless we get in there."

"So you're saying, then," Darunia rumbles, "that this has become Sage business."

"What I'm saying," Impa replies, leaning back, "is that this has been Sage business from the start."

Immediately an explosion of protests erupts from the majority of the non-Sages around the table, which is quickly quieted by Zelda standing up.

"Look," she says, addressing them all, "you have to admit that this situation calls for powers above and beyond what most of you have. Except Rue," she added, with a nod at the Gerudo, "since she's a mage. But," she added, raising her hands again before they could continue their complaints, "we didn't invite you take part in this meeting because we didn't believe in your individual abilities in times like these. When every last Sage in this room was captured, it was the lot of you who saw Hyrule through, so we've no right to claim that we can do anything you can't."

"What are you saying?" Acqul demands suspiciously, frowning at her.

"I'm saying," she said, "that Sage or not, you're in."

"Not me," Rue says as Zelda sits down again. "I'm out."

"What?" I say, turning to blink at her in surprise.

"Me as well," Karun says with a heavy sigh. Hunter gives a start.

"What?" He demands. "Why?" Rue and Karun share a look that is at once frustrated and resigned.

"I am old," Rue says by way of explanation. "Much too old to go gallivanting off around the Kingdom on quests.

"Rue!" I protest. "You're not—"

"Yes I am, Highness," she interrupts flatly.

"But … during the war, you—"

"I did what I had to do," Rue answers, shaking her head at me. "That's the way of the Gerudo. But I am not needed for this quest. There are others, younger than me, and more capable of something like this." She nods her head at Nabooru and Neesha, both of whom look a touch embarrassed by the statement. "Besides," she adds, tossing her short hair over her shoulder, "if I've told the lot of you once, I've told you a thousand times. I'm retired."

"And you, Karun?" Hunter asks, staring at his mentor. "You're not that old."

"Old enough, lad," Karun sighs. "And with a dead leg like mine I'll just slow you down. Ah, ah," he says, raising a hand to stop Hunter's protests. "What did I teach you about war, Hunter? It applies now."

"Know your limits," Hunter sighs, settling back in his chair.

"Aye lad. Know your limits. And I know mine. I'll be sitting this one out with Rue."

"Well I'm in," Acqul and Dune say at the same time, then abruptly stop and stare at each other before their eyes narrow and they look away with identical scowls.

I get a brief flash of déjà vu from back during the war when this type of fight was a daily occurrence and it's suddenly all I can do not to leap over the table, take them both by the neck and slam their heads together. Hunter, Neesha, Karun and Rue all look like they're contemplating the same thing.

"I'm in too," Neesha says finally, rolling her eyes.

"Me too," Hunter adds.

"Like there was a doubt," Nabooru mutters, rolling her eyes.

"As much as it kills me to say it," Darunia rumbles, "Impa, and Ruto … I think it would be best if you two sat this one out, as well." Impa nods – apparently having already come to that conclusion on her own – but Ruto looks offended.

"What?" She demands shrilly. "Sit it out? When my baby's been—" Acqul touches her shoulder and she sucks in her breath and attempts to regain her composure. Darunia takes advantage of the opening to explain himself.

"The Gorons and the Gerudo parted ways with the Hylians when the Gerudo treaty was broken," he rumbles. "For good or for ill remains to be seen."

The Gorons have a saying that goes something along the lines of "fill an upset stomach, empty an upset mind," and Darunia has always been a big supporter of this philosophy. When he heard that Agahnim had broken the treaty with the Gerudo, he was upset, and therefore emptied his mind in something akin to a massive fit of temper that resulted in his severing all ties with the Hylians until the treaty is reinstated. He admitted afterwards that the move had been rash, and he should have remained calm about it, as the Zora and the Sheikah had, but it was done, and it was too late to go back on it.

Besides, it had also served to shatter many of the remaining barriers between the Gorons and the Gerudo that had been in place since the Great War, and that, in and of itself, is worth something.

"So you're saying …" Nabooru prompts.

"He's saying," Impa replies, "that for the sake of appearances, it would be better if Ruto and I remained at home, in charge of our respective peoples, instead of disappearing with the rest of Hyrule's leaders – particularly those that are currently not on speaking terms with the Hylians."

"But," Ruto says, a pout in her voice, "it's not like Agahnim doesn't know that we're working against him."

"Agahnim does," Darunia says. "But the rest of Hyrule doesn't. And we're best to keep it that way."

"Politics," I say disparagingly, settling back in my seat and crossing my arms. "It always comes back to that somehow, doesn't it?"

"Well that's everybody but you, Uncle Bray," Hunter says, leaning forward to look at Dad. "Are you in or out?"

"Out," he says. I sit up straight and gape at him.

"'Scuse me?" I demand. "You're _out_?"

"That's what I said," he confirms with a nod.

"Why?" I demand incredulously.

"Oh don't look so betrayed!" He cries, rolling his eyes at my expression. "Impa and I were speaking beforehand. Getting the pendants is all well and good, but even having the Master Sword won't be much good to us unless we know what we're up against."

"We _do_ ," I respond flatly. "A black-magic using, bastard of an old man – who, for the record, I said right from the _start_ was bad news and none of you listened to me – who's dead set on killing, maiming, and otherwise harming every living thing in Hyrule for reasons unbeknownst to us."

"Exactly," Dad says. "Use your head, Link. Have you ever stopped to ask yourself _why_ he's doing this? _Why_ he's kidnapping people? _Where_ he's keeping them? Or even _why_ he hates Hyrule so much? What is he after? What is he doing? Is he working on his own, or is there a higher power at work here?" I pause and frown thoughtfully at him.

"I was actually kind of working off the assumption that he was just crazy like that," I admit, "but you bring up some interesting points." Zelda rolls her eyes.

"Remind me again why _you're_ the Hero of Time?" She demands.

"Because I have a big sword," I answer her with a crooked grin. "Or will once we get those pendants."

"So if you're not going to help us get the pendants, what _will_ you be doing?" Nabooru demands.

"There's an old hermit who lives up in the mountains," Dad answers. "And when I say old, I mean _old._ As in, nobody knows how old but he's been up there for generations."

"And this has _what_ to do with Agahnim?" Neesha demands, eyebrow raised.

"Dune and I have been all over Hyrule in the last three months," he replies, "speaking with every damned mage we could get out hands on, asking what use a black magician could _possibly_ have with the people kidnapped. They couldn't offer us much. A few managed to put forth theories, some plausible, some really not, but they all directed us to this old hermit, Sahasrahla. Apparently if anyone can shed some light on this, he can."

"So you're going to go ask him what he knows?" Hunter asked.

"Precisely," Dad answers. "If we're lucky he might know – or be able to guess – what Agahnim's planning with the people he's kidnapped. Maybe even give us a way to stop him, or to get the people back."

"All right then," Zelda says, "that makes eight of us in on the quest for the pendants. We need to—"

"Eight?" Interrupts Impa with a raised eyebrow. "You mean seven." Zelda blinks and recalculates her math.

"No," she says slowly, "I mean eight. Darunia, Acqul, Dune, Nabooru, me, Link, Hunter and Neesha." Her face falls suddenly. "Impa, don't you dare."

"You're not going, princess," the Sheikah replies. "You're out." Zelda's eyes narrow.

"Yes I am," she says flatly. "I'm in."

"Zelda, be reasonable about this," she says.

"I _am_ being reasonable," Zelda replies flatly, her eyes hard. "We need those Pendants, Impa, and of all of the Sages I'm probably the best suited for this type of mission. My powers will let us bypass any locks and doors that won't open and everything else."

"If she comes I've got dibs," I say, making sure everyone heard me. "If I never have to do another key puzzle it'll be too soon."

"First off," Impa says, rolling her eyes at me, "the Towers won't be set up like the Temples were. The Temples were _meant_ to be tests. The Towers are meant to be fortresses. Second off, we can be reasonably sure that Agahnim would like nothing better than to do to you what he's done with the others he's kidnapped."

"Oh for Din's sake, we cannot," Zelda interrupts. "You're reading into it. There's a million and one other reasons Agahnim could have tried to kidnap me. Because I'm the heir to the throne, because I'm a Sage, because I'm rich for love of Nayru! There's no guarantee he wanted me for the same reason—"

"Regardless of why he wanted you," Impa says, her tone as flat as before, "he still wanted you. And we can't risk you falling into his hands. While the rest of us go get the medallions, you'll go back to the Sacred Realm with Rauru, and you'll stay there." Zelda makes an irritated noise and mutters something under her breath that I can't quite make out.

How many times have I been in her situation?

How many times have I been there, because _she_ put me there?

You can't go here they might catch you. You can't go there they might kill you. You can't do this because I said so.

She totally deserves this. Payback is sweet and what goes around comes around, or so the saying goes, and _man_ am I going to enjoy this.

Less than a second later, though, my smugness is shot right to Hell because she looks at me and gives me her biggest, best, puppy-dog-eyed, damsel-in-distress, _please-please-please-if-you-love-me-you'll-do-this-for-me_ look, and what, in Din's name, am I supposed to say to that, exactly? No?

_Ha_!

Yet another thing to add to my list of "looks people give me all the time that I hate with a passion."

I grind my teeth and glare at her.

"You owe me for this," I hiss, then turn around to face Impa, who saw the look and is already rolling her eyes.

"I say she goes," I say. Someone – either Nabooru or Neesha, I can't tell – makes a whip noise from behind me, but I ignore them. "Look, like it or not, we're all in this together. That means _nobody_ is left out unless they ask to be. If we start telling this person or that person they can't go, for _whatever_ reason, we'll never be able to beat Agahnim. We didn't win the war by excluding each other. We won't win this one that way either." The Sages still look unconvinced, but the generals are nodding in agreement. Impa's shaking her head.

"Zelda, as your guardian, I can't just—"

"You're not here as my guardian, Impa," Zelda says, her expression pleading. "You're here as the Sage of Shadow and my friend." She meets Impa's gaze steadily. "I want to help." An uncomfortable silence descends, but is broken when Nabooru leans across the table.

"You can bypass locks?" She asks, her eyes taking on that crafty glint again.

"Yes," Zelda says. "I can use my telepathy to—" I lean forward and insert my face between Zelda's and Nabooru's and give the Sage of Spirit an unimpressed frown.

"We're going in there to steal the pendant, Nabooru," I say flatly. "That's it. Keep your sticky fingers to yourself for once, would you?" Nabooru rolls her eyes at me and looks at Zelda again.

"Hey, tell you what," she says, "when Captain Bring-Down here is gone, you and I should have a chat. I think I've got a business proposition for you if you're interested."

"Nabooru!" I cry disapprovingly, but she just smirks and me and leans back in her chair.

"So it's settled then," Zelda says, rerouting everyone's attention back to the matter at hand. "Eight of us are going." She stares flatly at Impa, daring her to object. Impa's expression darkens, but she remains silent, opting instead to turn her flat expression on me.

Inherent in her glare are two things: the official shift of the position of Zelda's protector from the Sheikan leader to me in her absence, and the threat of bodily harm if anything should happen to her. I meet her gaze steadily, trying not to be offended that she feels the need to _tell_ me to protect Zelda, as though the _instant_ she's not there something terrible will happen to Zelda and I'm just going to sit back and watch it happen.

Not likely.

"Eight people, two towers, so four on a team," Darunia says. "Who's with who, and which team goes to which tower?"

"Well," Hunter says, "we could do it the logical way and sit here for the rest of the afternoon arguing who's talents are better suited to which tower and go from there …"

"Or …" Prompts Zelda with a raised eyebrow.

"Or we could do it the old fashioned way and pull names out of a hat." I frown when everyone turns to me.

"Oh no," I say, "you're not using _my_ hat – hey! Nabooru!" I reach upwards to guard my poor hat an instant too late as Nabooru snatches it off my head. "Give it back!" I growl, getting up out of my chair.

"Oh Link," Zelda says, rolling her eyes and pulling me back down, "they're not going to hurt it."

"Yes they are," I whine. "Do you know how many people around this table hate my hat? _Especially_ the Gerudo around this table."

"The King's complaints aside," Nabooru says, throwing the hat into the middle of the table, "I vote for the hat. We've tried strategy already. Maybe it's time to put our faith in the Goddesses and leave things up to chance."

"Well …" Zelda says, a touch doubtfully, "I suppose it's as good as any other way …" There are nods from all around the table – some hesitant, some not – and a moment later everyone's scrambling around trying to find a scrap of paper to write their name on.

"I love how official we are," I tell Zelda with a smirk as I pass both our names to Nabooru to drop into my hat. "The fate of the world rests on us and we're drawing names from a hat." She flashes me a smile.

"An awful hat at that," she adds, then laughs outright at my offended expression. I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"If you'd like I can always retract my insistence that you come with us on the quests," I say flatly. "After all, I'm sure spending a bit of time in the Sacred Realm with Rauru instead of crawling around dangerous dungeons and fighting monsters with us will be just _so_ much fun."

"No, no!" She says hastily. "Don't … I … it's a very lovely hat."

"And?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. She frowns.

"What more do you want?" She asks. I turn around to face the group again, busily stuffing my hat full of names.

"Imp—" The rest of it is muffled as Zelda covers my mouth with a gloved hand, pulling my face back towards hers and glaring at me.

"Fine, fine," she hisses. "It's the best hat in the world, green is my favourite color, and I wish I had one like it. Happy?" I smirk at her beneath her hand and nod. She rolls her eyes at me and removes her hand just in time for me to stick my tongue out at her without getting a mouth full of lint. She narrows her eyes. "You have no respect, you know that?" She demands.

"So I'm told," I say with a grin. "But now go ahead and ask yourself if you'd still love me if I did."

"Hmph," she says in answer. "I hope you're not on my team." I smirk again.

"I'll take that as a no," I reply.

"All right," Nabooru says, taking the hat and tossing it and its contents over to Rue. "Since you're not going and you've got seniority over pretty much everyone in the room, you draw the teams." Nabooru grins at her. "Unless of course, this violates your self-proclaimed retirement."

"Any time you'd like to step out in the ring and be reminded of who taught you to swing that pretty little scimitar of yours, Nabooru, you just ask," Rue replies with a raised eyebrow as she scoops up my hat. "I've earned my retirement." She reaches in and fishes around for a moment, then pulls her hand out of my hat, clutching four pieces of paper in a gnarled fist.

"The first team will be Darunia, Neesha, Acqul and Dune," she announces, reading the slips of paper.

"What?" Dune and Acqul cry from their ends of the table.

"Absolutely not," Dune adds, glaring flatly at Rue.

"Draw again," Acqul says flatly. Rue's expression doesn't change as she returns their glares.

"There is no drawing again," she says. "You decided to leave it to chance, and the Goddesses, and one or the other has spoken. There's no going back on it." Dune and Acqul both rise to their feet, but I get there before them and slam my fist on the table to cut off their angry shouts.

"Too damn bad," I growl as everyone around the table turns to stare at me in surprise. I glare flatly at Acqul and Dune. "The names are drawn, the teams are made, and you two will just have to put aside your issues and remember that once upon a time you were friends." I say flatly. "Now get over yourselves. There are lives at stake here – your children included – and all your stupid fight is doing is jeopardizing them." Their faces take on a balking, mule-faced expression, but they sit back down without another complaint.

"Well," Nabooru says, raising an eye at Neesha after I sit back down. "Looks like the dream team's missing one of their members." Neesha smirks and leans back in her chair.

"Those losers were just holding me back anyway," she says, stretching. "I'll be _way_ better off without—"

"Link!" Dad snaps from the other end of the table, just before I can slam my foot into the back legs of Neesha's chair and send her toppling to the ground. I turn to look and he frowns darkly. I roll my eyes and lower my foot, turning back straight in my chair. Neesha – realizing what I had been about to do – drops her chair hastily back onto four legs.

"You never let me have any fun," I grumble bitterly. "Link, don't hit Neesha. Link, leave Neesha alone. Link, put that down."

"Link," Dad says, mocking my tone, "shut your mouth and quit whining." I roll my eyes at him again.

"Smart-mouthed old man," I mutter under my breath. Zelda offers me a sad smile.

"Enjoy him while you have him, Link," she says. "Hunter will tell you the same. He won't be there forever and you'll miss him when he's gone." For a brief instant something cracks in her cheerful composure – and I'm suddenly cursing myself for an idiot for not seeing through it right from the start.

Hunter's not the only one who's lost a father to this whole mess, and I haven't even …

I shake my head, angry at myself suddenly.

"Zelda, I'm sorry," I say softly. "I should have realized…" She winces, realizing that she's given herself away, and shakes her head suddenly.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "I mean … it's not like he's dead, right?" She says. "Just … sick … or something. Assuming he's even sick. I mean … he might be perfectly healthy for all we know."

"Of course," I say, offering her a smile. "And we'll get him back too. Just wait and see if we don't." She offers me a hesitant nod and the cheerful mask is back up before anyone gets a chance to notice it's gone. I sigh inwardly.

You'd think, sharing a mental link and everything, I'd be better at this intuitive stuff … she's hard to read sometimes, though.

"All right then," Darunia rumbles, his voice cutting across the chatter caused by the team announcements, "Me, Neesha, Acqul and Dune will all be on one team. Zelda, Nabooru, Hunter and Link will make up the other. Any complaints? Any _valid_ complaints?" He adds when Acqul and Dune both look ready to speak up. The rest of us shake our heads. "All right then. Which team will go to which tower?"

"No offence, there, Darunia," Acqul notes, "but I think perhaps we'd be best at the Tower of Din. The Tower of Farore is located out in the water at Lake Hylia. It may be similar to the Water Temple, and … something tells me you can't swim any better than Karun here." Darunia – far from taking offence – gives a heartfelt laugh.

"That's the truth, brother," he says with a wide grin. "That's the truth. All right then. Any objections if the four of us head for the Tower of Din?" Nabooru makes a face.

"Besides the fact it leaves me to deal with a lake?" She demands. "Can't say that I do." I'd say something mean right now, but I don't have to. Nabooru has caught me smirking and the message is delivered without me needing to say anything. I grin.

"Tower of Farore it is, then," I say. "Let's break up for tonight then. We can spend tomorrow getting whatever supplies we need and then we're off the next day."

The 'Council of Sages' nods in agreement and as one we get up from the table.

I suppress the urge to fidget excitedly.

We're finally on the move.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Is there a _reason_ you're prowling the halls at this time of night, Zelda, or do I need to alert the guards?"

Zelda just managed to choke back a scream, but couldn't help jumping and whirling around, her hand flying to clutch at her chest.

"Neesha!" She gasped in a high-pitched whisper. "Don't do that to me! Nayru, Farore, and Din, you scared me out of my wits!" Neesha threw her a dry smirk.

"Doesn't take much for a Hylian," she said. Zelda frowned at her but bit back a reply. It was some kind of test, that much was certain. For one reason or another she always felt like Neesha was testing her. Everything the girl said had some hidden, ulterior motive that Zelda, for all her mind powers and telepathic abilities, couldn't for the life of her figure out.

So the diplomat in her kicked in and she just let it go.

For all she knew that's just how Gerudo were. Nabooru did it to her too, from time to time. They were an odd people and she wasn't about to pretend she understood them. Neesha raised an eyebrow at her lack of response, then rolled her eyes and let it go as well.

"You haven't answered my question," she pointed out. "It's kind of late. I thought you went to bed."

"I … did," Zelda answered, avoiding the younger girl's gaze. "I just …"

"Nightmare's," Neesha said sagely, nodding to herself. "You had a nightmare. A bad one too, from the look of it." Zelda blinked in surprise.

"How did you …" Neesha grinned.

"Link gets them too, from time to time. Sometimes they're serious, sometimes they're not. But when they are, you can tell. He starts wandering the halls in the middle of the night, for example. And won't tell anyone why." Zelda stared at her for a moment more, debating, then decided to give in.

"All right," she admitted, "so I had a nightmare. A bad one."

"How bad?" Again Zelda hesitated.

"Bad enough," she answered. Neesha remained unimpressed and Zelda sighed. "Link … was in it," she said. "He, um … he didn't make it out of it, though."

"Oh," Neesha said, her face softening slightly. "Yeah, that would be pretty rough."

"They are. It was," she corrected herself hurriedly, but Neesha's eyebrow had already gone up. Zelda covered a wince by starting off down the hall again.

"They?" Neesha asked, catching up to her, then abruptly shook her head. "Never mind," she said. "It's your business, not mine. Are you headed anywhere in particular? You're going to get lost if you wander too long. You're already deeper in than you should be, and if the guards catch you there'll be Hell to pay."

"Why?" Zelda asked curiously. "What's back here? If you don't mind my asking, that is." Neesha grinned at her.

"Link is, as a matter of fact," she answered. "You'll have to forgive us if we're a bit protective. We only get one King every hundred years, and our last one didn't work out so well if you catch my drift."

"Caught and duly noted," Zelda said wryly, then sighed. "I was actually looking for Link," she admitted. "Or his room at least. Nothing like that," she added hastily, upon seeing Neesha's eyebrow practically sky rocket off her head. "Just … the nightmare threw me off a bit. I just wanted … reassurance, I guess, that he was all right." Neesha struggled and failed not to make a face. "What?" Zelda demanded. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Neesha said, waving her off. "Link practically begged me to be nice and he made me promise I would. I'm not going to make a liar out of myself." Zelda raised an eyebrow at this.

"You promised to be nice?" She asked. Neesha frowned.

"Yes," she said flatly. "And to tell you the truth you're making it very hard." Zelda rubbed her temple tiredly.

"Well, I hate to break it to you Neesha," she said, "but you can't just say things like that and expect me to let it go. If you've got a problem with me, let's hear it." Neesha crossed her arms stubbornly and closed her mouth. "Neesha … oh fine. You know, technically it's not nice to refuse to answer someone's questions. Especially if they asked politely." Neesha glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. Zelda's voice took on a coaxing tone. "I promise I won't tell Link …"

"All right, fine," Neesha said, unfolding her arms. "But only because Link's being stupid if he thinks this will sort itself out without you knowing about it. And I'm not telling you this for your sake either, I'm telling you this for his."

"Well, then," Zelda said, not sure whether to be amused or offended at her bluntness. Not that this was anything new. She always felt that way around Neesha. She was never quite able to decide whether the girl liked her or not. "Spit it out already." Neesha stopped walking and turned to fully face the princess.

"Fine," she said. "Here's the issue. Link likes you. Link likes you a lot, as a matter of fact."

"This I'm aware of," Zelda pointed out. "I happen to like him quite a bit myself."

"Exactly," Neesha answered. "That's the problem right there. Not that you like him, or that he likes you. That's fine. That's his business and yours. The problem is that our _King_ likes you. And you like our _King_. And here's the part that Link made me swear to never say to you _ever_ , on pain of absolute and utter annihilation. He even got stupid Hunter to be a stupid witness to it." Zelda raised an eyebrow expectantly. "You aren't good enough for him."

While it would be a lie to say that she hadn't expected something of the sort …

She was still taken aback at the … straightforward way something so … damning had been delivered. Had she tried something like that back in Castletown she would have been drawn and quartered politically before she could so much as blink.

She was starting to understand why Link liked the Gerudo so much.

They were as painfully blunt as he was sometimes.

"I'm not … good enough?" She asked, unable to make her brain come up with more. Neesha rolled her eyes and made a disgusted noise.

"See, that's exactly why you're not," she said. "If I told you I hated your guts and you were ugly and you couldn't fight worth a damn, you'd just sit there and take it! Like you're doing now! What the Hell is wrong with you? Do all Hylians do that, or is it just you?"

"Well … what am I supposed to do, exactly?" Zelda demanded, surprise starting to give way to anger.

"Stand up for yourself!" Neesha cried, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world and Zelda was blind to it. "If I offend you, fight me! Yell at me, or punch me, or whatever! Don't just sit there, like a dead leever, staring at me with your mouth open like that. And for Nayru's sake, don't run to Link every time something doesn't go your way!"

"What?" Zelda demanded. "I've never—"

"You do so!" Neesha interrupted. "You did it today when Impa wasn't going to let you go after the pendants! You gave up and made Link fight for you. What's wrong with you that you need a _male_ to fight for you? All the time, you're getting other people to do it for you. You're using other people for _your_ dirty work. If you can't win a fight on your own, Zelda, you don't deserve to win at all." Zelda stared at her, resisting the urge to scowl.

"Neesha, if you felt like this, you should have—"

"It's not just me," Neesha interrupted again. "And in fact, if you really want to know, I don't really care all that much. It if keeps Link smiling, it's fine by me – even _if_ what keeps Link smiling is not exactly what I would have picked for him. But for the rest of the women here – except Nabooru, who actually likes you and seems to think for some reason that you actually _have_ a spine – you're just not good enough. They're offended, first off, that of all the women in the fortress, Link decided to pick a weak Hylian girl with no sense of pride and honour. Farore, Zelda, if you could _hear_ half of the crap he takes for you …"

"Weak?" Zelda demanded. "I'm weak? Neesha, I didn't survive seven years disguised as a boy because I was weak. I didn't try to take on Bongo-Bongo on my own because I was weak! I didn't … I didn't follow Link all around Hyrule trying to help him awaken the Sages because I was weak!"

"Then prove it!" Neesha cried. "Prove you're not! Prove to us you're good enough! Prove you're worthy of a Gerudo King! Fight for him! Don't just sit there and think you're entitled to him! Because you're not. You're not entitled to anything until you've proven you deserve it."

"Deserve it?" Zelda demanded angrily, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. "I _have_ proven I deserve Link! If I hadn't, we wouldn't be—"

"Nobody cares, Zelda," Neesha interrupted. "Nobody cares what you did outside the desert. Nobody cares what you proved out there. We're still waiting to see it here."

"Well how?" Zelda demanded, making an impatient gesture, her temper slipping from her grasp at last. "How in Nayru's name am I going to shift an opinion as strong as this one apparently is? And why the _Hell_ should I have to prove _anything_ to a pack of barbaric, thieving desert rats? Link doesn't belong to you anymore than he does to me, and if he and I decide we're in a relationship, it's none of your damn business!" Before Zelda could go any further, a grin suddenly cracked Neesha's face.

"So you _do_ have a bit of spunk," she said slyly. Zelda's anger dulled with the realization she'd been had. "What's sad," Neesha continued, "is that it took a full five minutes of me ripping you up before you lost your temper. You'll need to work on that, for starters. If someone gets in your face, Zelda, you don't have to take that. Nabooru's convinced you have a backbone. Maybe it's time you started showing it to the rest of the world." Zelda's anger faded completely and she was once again back to staring at Neesha in shock.

"Come again?" She asked.

"I said you're a stupid, lack-wit of a Hylian who couldn't fight her way out of a paper bag." There it was again. The feeling that she was being tested. She hesitated for only a moment.

"And you're a backstabbing, ignorant thief with no sense of morals or class." Neesha flashed her a grin she could only have learned from Link.

"You're catching on," she said. Zelda smiled, and then laughed.

Maybe the Gerudo weren't so bad after all.


	6. The Gerudo in Him

#  **Chapter 6 and Interludes**

_"The only thing people love more than a hero, is to see a hero fail, fall, die trying…. The truth is, in spite of everything you've done for them, eventually, they will hate you."_

The Green Goblin (Spiderman Movie)

##  **Chapter 6**

"… well I heard that he killed no less than _ten_ guards! _Ten_! Can you imagine?" The lady sitting in front of him snorts derisively (at least, I assume it's a him. The lady's sort of massive and she's blocking whatever view I might have had of the original speaker. She's vaguely familiar, in an unpleasant sort of way).

"Well what can you expect, exactly?" She demands in a loud, overbearing voice that makes me want to grind my teeth. "He's always _been_ something of a bad egg, you know. Why, I remember this one instance, I was at the Castletown Market at the time, and my little Richard bounded up to him – he's such a friendly dog—" Oh yes. _Richard_. The little terrier attack dog that took personal offence to my existence. If I could _count_ the number of times that little rat of a dog sank his teeth into me …. "—and he kicked my poor pup! A malicious little boy, he was! And afterwards he grinned like … well, not unlike those wanted posters they've put up." At her words I glance up at the poster pinned up on the wall despite myself. I've already seen it. I stared at it in shock as a matter of fact for a good five minutes (thanking the goddesses the weather had forced me to put my hood up) while the guard who showed it to me went on about what a shame it is when good people go bad.

On it are three rough sketches of Hunter, Neesha and me – except that Neesha looks crazy, Hunter looks dastardly, and I just look evil – and I'm not talking, cool, debonair, suave evil. Oh no. Not by a long shot. I'm talking insane, manic, I-sacrifice-babies-on-a-bloody-altar-to-appease-the-evil-hunger-of-my-dark-god-and-to-tell-the-truth-I-kinda-like-it evil.

"It's the Gerudo in him, I'll bet," says a second woman, standing beside the first. "And if it's not the blood, it's the environment. Did you know that he actually _lives_ in the desert with those savages? It's no _wonder_ he's turned violent." They all shake their heads.

I clench my jaw and my fists and stare straight ahead, boring a hole in the wanted poster with my eyes.

"Poor Princess Zelda," the man says. "I hate to say it," here his voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper that the whole store can hear, "but I think there's a distinct possibility that we'll never see her again! Considering how mentally unstable he is, he may have done anything! It's been two weeks since he kidnapped her! Imagine what he's put our poor Princess through in that time!"

"I heard he proposed to her and she said no and that's what made him go crazy. I heard he meant to kill her. You know, one those 'If I can't have her, no one will' type of things."

" _I_ heard that while he was away he fell into the dark arts and _they're_ what drove him crazy."

"You're assuming that he even really went away," someone else throws in. "Think about it. All those disappearances lately? Maybe that whole … 'diplomatic mission' was just a cover and he's actually been here, the whole time. Kidnapping people."

"I heard that he killed his own uncle!" Every head in the room but mine swivels around. I'm having trouble getting my breath out between my teeth at the moment.

"What?" Both women gasp. "No!"

"Yes," says the man, clearly relishing the attention this little bit of gossip has earned him. "You remember him, don't you? Large man who ran the Archery Shop in Castletown?" Several people take off their hats and the women lower their heads for a moment in an infuriating display of false sympathy.

"Well that tears it," says the smaller woman. "I didn't know either one of them very well but I know that man loved Link like a son. Anyone who would kill his own guardian in cold blood deserves to have a price on their head! Whether or not he _did_ kidnap the Princess!"

I slam my fist down on the counter, unlocking my jaw just enough to cover the noise by shouting at the shopkeeper who's in the back room gathering up the things on my list.

"Hey! What's taking you?" I demand. The crowd turns away from me – disappointed that I don't have some big, fat, juicy lie to add to the rest going around most likely. Vultures. Every last one of them. I'd like nothing better to rip off my hood and show them just how 'crazy' I can be, but that's going to get me nowhere. There's a reward of a thousand rupees on my head. That's enough money to be worth considering turning _myself_ in, let alone trusting someone else to keep my secret.

For all their faults, the Hylian people love Zelda in a way very few rulers are ever loved. And even those who aren't Hylian specifically – with the obvious, and usual exception of the Gerudo – are more or less fond of her. Now that she's missing … they must be in a panic.

I've seen mob mentality drive people to do some pretty insane things …

I shouldn't be surprised Agahnim fell back on it.

And in the end, that's what this is.

It's Agahnim.

It's _always_ Agahnim.

He's turning them against me. He's using Zelda to turn them against me.

He's trying to eliminate as many of my allies as possible. Cutting down my hiding places. Leaving me nowhere to run.

He knows he can't stop me, so he's going to make my life a living Hell in the meantime. I wonder how many of his other dirty deeds he has, and will continue to blame on me?

I wonder how long it'll take for the rest of Hyrule to hate me enough to hand me over to him, if they don't already.

I wonder …

The shopkeeper finally bustles back out of the storage room as the buzz of conversation resumes and I resist the urge to turn my head and answer every time I hear my name. They're _all_ talking about me. Me and Hunter and Neesha.

"Sorry for the wait," he says, setting my things out on the counter for me to inspect. "I couldn't find the bombs." He points at them and looks at me. "You, uh … you know the price has gone up, right?" He asks. "The Gorons will no longer sell to us, so we have to get them through the Sheikah. That means paying a middle man."

"Whatever," I say, taking a quick look at it all. "I don't care. Whether or not they're expensive, I need them. Put it all in a box and tally it up. I'm kinda in a hurry," I add in a flat, unfriendly tone when he opens his mouth – no doubt to try and chat me up about what I think about the talk of the town. He shuts his mouth and turns away with a miffed expression to do as I asked.

All told, I can't get out of there fast enough.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Neesha frowned at the poster and tried to twist her face into the same expression the pencil version of her was using to leer back at her.

"Give it up, Neesha," Hunter said, smirking at her attempts. "Those expressions are physically impossible."

"What do you think Link's problem was?" She asked, ignoring him and continuing to contort her face. If she could just get her lip to curl a little more …

"I think his problem was this poster," Hunter replied, leaning back on his bench and staring up at the roof.

"A bit violent for just a wanted poster, don't you think?" Zelda pointed out from across the table. She jabbed idly at the leever in front of her with her fork.

"They're better with salt," Hunter said, pushing the salt across the table to her. He made a face. "Lots of salt."

Not more than a half-hour ago Link had returned from his short trip to Kakariko to pick up supplies and drop Brayden, Rue and Karun (Rue had insisted on going with him, her curiosity at a mage that old piqued, and Karun knows the mountains better than either of them so he had been asked to tag along as well) at the path to Death Mountain. At first Nabooru had no intentions of letting him go, so they settled their arguments in the usual way and he won. Hunter had a feeling she'd let him win. She'd said afterwards that she hoped the trip, short though it was, would do something about his cabin fever which was driving her nuts. There was a reason he never stayed long in the desert during the rainy season.

If it was supposed to improve his mood, however, it had failed. He had returned tired, soaked, and pissed off, and wouldn't tell anybody why. All he'd done was drop off the boxes, slam the poster down on the table for everyone to have a look at, and then left as fast as he'd come in, muttering darkly to himself.

"Well … so maybe it's not the poster," Hunter said, "but I can practically guarantee you that it's got something to do with the poster."

"So let's go find out what, then," Neesha said, setting the poster down finally and giving up on trying to imitate it. "We're heading out for the stupid towers tomorrow, and it's going to be a miserable trip if he's sulking." Hunter and Zelda both rolled their eyes in agreement.

"What do you care?" Hunter asked. "You're not going with us."

"No," Neesha said, making a sour face, "I'm going with Acqul and Dune. And what fun we're going to have. First off, they're still not talking to each other. And second, Dune's bossy."

"Dune's a mother," Hunter says. "She can't help bossing you around. She still has trouble understanding that you're technically an adult."

"Technically?" Neesha demanded, glaring at him. "I'm sixteen, Hunter! I'm more than _technically_ an adult." Hunter narrowed his eyes at her.

"Look, we're not having this argument again," he said. "I was just saying that that's the way Dune sees it, all right? You know the Sheikah have a much later coming of age. Just … humour her, all right?" Neesha gave him a withering look.

"Yes oh high and mighty Sheikah," she said caustically. "Your wish is my command."

"Ignore her, Hunter," Zelda said, cutting of his response. "She's just bitter because she can't go with you and Link tomorrow." She got up before Neesha's smouldering glare could erupt into something a little more physical. "Now, I vote for Neesha's suggestion. Let's go find Link."

"Where are we going to look?" Hunter demanded. "This fortress is huge."

"Well," Neesha said, abandoning her glaring to pick up her plate and fork and follow them back to the doors, "would you say he looked more frustrated or more depressed when he got back?" They dropped their plates into the designated spot and thought about it for a moment.

"Depressed," Zelda said finally. "He was both, but more depressed I think."

"In that case, follow me," Neesha said. "I know where he is."

She led them easily through the labyrinth that was Gerudo Fortress, deeper into it than Hunter had been before. He was just about to open his mouth to ask where they were going when they came across a very frazzled – very pregnant – looking Gerudo, dressed in purple.

"Turn back now if you value your sanity," she growled as she passed them, pulling out her ponytail and trying to straighten it out. "He's got them all riled up. Little animals …" Neesha rolled her eyes.

"When does he not rile them up," she grumbled.

"Rile who up?" Zelda asked. In answer Neesha shoved at a door on their left. It swung open to reveal a large room, scattered with various simple objects, apparently toys of some kind. Hunter was vaguely disturbed by the fact that the vast majority of them appeared to be infantile versions of weapons or armour of some kind. He was pretty sure as well that the few that weren't were likely Link's additions to the Gerudo 'toy' chest.

"The nursery?" He asked in surprise. "Are we even allowed in here?" He gestured to Zelda and himself.

"Probably not," Neesha said with a nonchalant shrug. "It's not like you could ruin them anymore than Link's trying to, though, so I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, the majority of people who work on the nursery are the purple, and I'm a red, so I've got rank." She sounded inordinately pleased with that fact, as she always did. She moved to step into the room, then paused for the briefest of instants, throwing a narrow-eyed look around the room, that was gone an instant later as she stepped back instead and gestured them through. Hunter raised an eyebrow and looked at Zelda, who apparently hadn't seen the look Neesha had given the room.

"Ladies first," he said. She raised an eyebrow at him, but took his offer anyway. He slid next to Neesha as Zelda crossed the threshold.

"Something I should know before we step in there?" He asked her. She grinned.

"Just watch," she said. A moment later, however, Zelda frowned and turned around, peering quizzically at them.

"Are you coming?" She demanded, then looked around. "I don't see anyone in here." Neesha frowned in surprise.

"Are you sure?" She demanded. "Nobody?" Zelda gestured impatiently.

"There's nobody here, I mean it." Neesha turned to Hunter and gestured for him to go in.

"Nothing doing," he said flatly. "You first." They glared at each other, then simultaneously sighed.

"Fine, we'll go in together," she grumbled. They moved into the room.

The instant they had crossed the threshold, the door slammed shut behind them and the lights went out.

Someone let out a whoop and the sound of a mass of little girls tumbling out of hiding places filled the air. Neesha managed half a swear word and Zelda a surprised "Oh!" before they were overwhelmed. Hunter, on the other hand, had acted the instant the door had moved, trying to leap up onto the counter to his left, but two little somethings latched onto his legs and pulled him back down again. The next second three more threw themselves onto his back, effectively pinning him to the ground. Not more than a moment later there was the sound of someone striking flint from around the room and the torches flickered back to life, and when they did they revealed at least thirty little girls, ages ranging from what looked like as young as 3 to as old as 10 (with a couple of thirteen year olds – probably just shy of their rite of passage mission – dressed in purple standing near the torches attempting to look annoyed at the commotion and immaturity in the room, but unable to disguise the twitching at the corner of their mouths). And standing in the throng, looking down at his helpless prisoners, was Link, his hands on his hips in his trademark cocky stance and his face split nearly in two by the crooked smile they all knew, and occasionally loved.

"Tsk," he said. "A Gerudo and two Sheikah, caught and pinned by some little girls." He shook his head. "Either you guys are going soft or my girls here are the most talented group of Gerudo to be born in a while …"

***

##  **Chapter 6 (cont.)**

"So," I say, settling down onto the floor, my lap immediately filled by one of the smaller girls in the room, "what brings you three to the nursery."

"We were looking for you, actually," Hunter answers, leaning back against the counter and tossing a ball back and forth in his hands. "You, uh … you didn't seem all that happy when you got back."

"Well, that's because I wasn't," I answer vaguely, letting the little girl pull my hat off so she can play with it.

"We were sort of wondering what was wrong," Zelda adds, settling her skirts around herself as she sits down beside me. Neesha remains standing, leaning casually up against the counter instead.

"I showed you the wanted poster, didn't I?" I ask. "Pardon me if have a thousand rupees on my head isn't exactly a cheering thought." Hunter rolls his eyes.

"Link, under any other circumstances you'd be _proud_ of that price. Nayru knows Neesha's spent half today running around and bragging about it to the other Gerudo." He ducks a swing from the aforementioned Gerudo who glares flatly at him. "It's not the wanted poster that's got your shorts in a knot."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to talk about it," I say.

"Well fine," Hunter says caustically. "I'll just go get _Dune_ to talk to you about it, then. Maybe she can cry."

"And here I thought you were over that," I mutter wryly. The little girl in my lap pulls my hat down over her face and giggles.

"Not likely," Hunter returns, rolling his eyes.

"We just want to help, Link," Zelda says, leaning up against my shoulder. "We're not trying to pry." Neesha snorts.

"Yes we are." I sigh heavily.

"I know," I say. "Sorry. Didn't mean to snap." For a moment the sounds of the girls in the room playing and laughing and shouting fills everything as we all fall silent. Even the little girl in my lap has curled up and gone silent. I think she might be about to fall asleep. "Can I ask you guys a question?" I say finally. "Hypothetically of course."

"Of course," Zelda agrees, gesturing for me to continue.

"Well … let's say there was this guy. Let's call him … uh …"

"Li?" Hunter suggests with a wry smirk. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Fine. We'll call him Li. And let's say that Li and his friends—"

"Can we call them Hunt, Nee and Zel?" Neesha asks, smirking at me. Zelda is unable to repress a giggle. I glare at them.

"I'm trying to be hypothetical here," I say flatly.

"Sorry," Neesha says, unapologetically.

"Do continue," Zelda adds.

"Right. So let's say that Li and his friends are … well, they're heroes. Whether they set out to be or not doesn't really matter. What does is that they are. They worked very hard and they sacrificed a lot and in the end they managed, through some freak chance, to save the world – or at least Hyrule – from a nasty fate. And let's say that while there may have been selfish reasons behind it in part, for the most part, they did it because it was the right thing to do. Because there was a job to do, and they stepped up and did it. And let's say that they never really stopped. That just about everything they did, they did for Hyrule. For its people and its allies. They gave up time and effort and other things they may have done with themselves. They even … they even gave up people they loved for it." Zelda twists around so she can look at me.

"This is a very depressing hypothetical question," she observes.

"Well it shouldn't be," I answer, "but what's sad is that I even have to ask it." I shake my head and frown at the ground. "Let's say that one day, a very bad man said some very bad things about Li and his friends. After everything Li and his friends had done for the kingdom, after everything they'd sacrificed, after everything they'd become … would you have believed him? The bad man? Given a choice who would you side with?" Hunter and Zelda are both nodding slowly.

"I take it," Zelda says softly, "the masses have spoken, and it wasn't what you were expecting." I shift the little girl in my lap so I can sit in a more comfortable position and nod.

"They have," I agree, "and it wasn't."

"How bad was it?" Hunter asks. "How much damage control will we—"

"We're, uh … we're a little beyond damage control," I interrupt him, shaking my head dismally. "Even for you two." I nod at him and Zelda. "They believed it. Every word of it." I can feel my jaw clench despite myself. "More than believed it. They've extrapolated on it, and now they believe all their stupid gossip and stories and everything else." I grind my teeth and stare up at the roof. "Farore."

"Well, Link …," Zelda says carefully, "that's just the way most people are. They love gossip. And this … I mean … _this_ is the biggest scandal in a decade. A century even!"

"There _is_ no scandal!" I cry. "There isn't! We haven't _done_ anything for there to be a scandal over!" Hunter's shaking his head.

"Link, if you've learnt anything from Hylian politics," he says, his face serious, "it should have been that the truth doesn't matter. Truth isn't just relative, it's non-existent. Why would people believe the truth when the lie is that much more exciting?"

"Exciting?" I demand, glaring at him. "Sitting around and talking about how … how I've kidnapped Zelda, and I've maimed her, and I've tortured her, and I've done all kinds of horrible things that I wouldn't … I'd never …" I grind my teeth. "Or how about calmly sitting there at a table and discussing how I murdered my own Uncle in cold blood." Hunter's face loses some of its color and I feel bad all of a sudden but I can't stop. "Or how about the fact that I've been rotten to the core since the day I was born. And not just me, but you too, Hunter. And Neesha. All of us. The entire _kingdom_ is convinced that we're nothing but soulless, gutless, backstabbing, murdering demons, bent on carnage and destruction – and that we've always been like that!"

"Oh, Link," Zelda says. "They're not … that's just … you can't blame them if—"

"Yes he can," Neesha interrupts her suddenly. Her expression is annoyed. "Don't soften it for him. He's not some Hylian child who needs " There's a pause and I half expect Zelda to back down, but instead she grinds her teeth.

"Tell me, Neesha, are all Gerudo heartless, or are you special?" I blink in surprise and twist to look down at her. Neesha's angry expression slips for just a second and she looks taken aback, then the anger abruptly reasserts itself and she bristles.

"There's a difference between heart and weakness," she responds, glaring back at Zelda. "You can't strengthen one with the other."

"What are you getting at, Neesha?" I interrupt, cutting Zelda off before she can lose it. What the Hell's gotten into her? She's not usually so … flippy. _I'm_ supposed to be the flippy one.

"The wizard has nothing to do with everyone's distrust of you," Neesha says flatly, turning back to me. "Blame him all you want, but all he did was give them the opportunity. To believe him over you is a decision they made themselves. No mind control involved. They _wanted_ to believe you'd done it and that's all there is to it."

"What?" I cry, climbing to my feet to glare at her, sending the little girl in my lap scrambling for a safer seat (which she promptly finds in Hunter's). "You can't be serious, Neesha! I've always … I've never … after everything I've …." I throw my fist into my palm to vent my frustration with the whole situation. "Neesha, I've – _we've_ – put our lives on the line for this Kingdom, and those people, too many times to count! And we've never asked for _anything_ for it! I still don't! I don't _want_ anything for it! It's what I am! It's what I do! And now they've … they've just …"

"Turned their backs on you," Neesha supplies in her oh-so-helpful manner. "They've turned their backs on you. They've rejected you. They want nothing to do with you, or the rest of us." She clenches her fists and glares at me. "And who the Hell cares? Why the Hell does it matter? The battle lines have been drawn, Link, and people will fall where they will. The only question that matters is where you'll fall. The rest of them be damned." She narrows her eyes at me, and crosses her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. "Does it really change anything?" She asks. "Will you still put your life on the line now that they've abandoned you? Will you still risk yourself and everything you have for them? Are you willing to go to war for a people who want nothing to do with you?" I glare flatly back at her.

The spiteful part of me wants to say no …

But that's really not an option and I know it.

"Yes," I hiss. "I'll still fight for them. It doesn't change a damn thing."

"Then quit sulking," she says flatly. "Those people have forgotten that you're their Hero. You're not gonna remind them of it by acting like a baby, now are you?" I make an annoyed noise and drop back down into a seated position. Neesha's grin returns and she looks down at Zelda.

"And that, Little-Miss-Princess," she says, "is how it's _supposed_ to be done."

I pull myself from my sulking over the lost argument long enough to exchange a glance with Hunter.

Memo to self: find out what the Hell's going on between Zelda and Neesha before whatever it is comes back to bite me in the ass.

***

" _Oh I went to the desert to find me a gal,  
For a wife I'd have traded the world,  
But the dessert, it turns out, was just not a pal,  
And Gerudo, they aren't really girls.  
For girls are so pleasantly perfect,  
Their hearts are so perfectly nice,  
Their looks are so nice, that I'm sure that,  
Whatever you paid's a low price.  
But Gerudo, they're mean and their nasty,  
Gerudo, they're bad and it shows.  
Don't let a Gerudo get past ye,  
For she's all thorns with nary a rose.  
So if you're off to the desert to find you a gal,  
All perfume and makeup and curls,  
Best to quit now with what's left of morale,  
For Gerudo, they aren't really girls."_

Hunter finishes up his song and directs a smart-ass grin over at Nabooru. "What do you think? It still needs a bit of work, but I think it gets its point across all right."

"Mm-hmm," she answers, eyeing the dark clouds brewing on the horizon with a deep frown. Hunter frowns at her lack of attention then follows her gaze. He cocks his head at the clouds.

"What are you so worried about?" He demands. "They're not heading towards us. The wind's taking them northeast. It'll skip us entirely." She rolls her eyes.

"Yes, Hunter," she says caustically, "and what lies to the northeast of Lake Hylia?" He thinks, then his frown deepens.

"The mountains," he says, suddenly looking as concerned as she does.

"I'm not so worried about Neesha and her group," Nabooru continues. "They'll be in the Tower long before that storm hits. It's Rue and hers … they don't even have an exact location of the hermit. They'll just be wandering." Hunter shakes his head.

"They'll … be all right," he says. "Uncle Bray and Karun are used to the winter, and they know how to travel the mountains. They'll see it coming and have time to find shelter."

"Hmm," Nabooru says, her expression no less concerned. "Rue's arthritis is going to kick in. Riding a horse in the desert is one thing, but climbing a mountain in a snowstorm?" I don't need to see her expression to know what it is. Her eyes will be narrowed at the clouds and she'll chew on her bottom lip for a moment. "She pushes herself too far." It's half-whispered, but the wind carries. Hunter blinks in surprise, taken aback by the sudden show of concern. He cranes his neck around to shoot me a questioning glance to which I shake my head and mouth the word "later" at him.

If he can't figure it out, I'm not wasting time now to explain it to him.

For the Gerudo, there is no family except your sisters. The other familial units just don't exist for them: father, brother, uncle, aunt, grandma, grandpa, cousins, and, perhaps most interestingly for a race comprised entirely of females and me, mother. These words mean nothing to them. They pay just enough attention to blood lines to keep any kind of inbreeding at bay, but it is for that purpose only. However, this doesn't mean that these roles aren't occasionally filled.

If there was ever a mother of the Gerudo, it's Rue – whether or not she wants to be – and that's a job from which she'll never retire. She's the oldest Gerudo in memory (including her own), and likely one of, if not _the_ oldest in history. To see a Gerudo older than sixty is rare. _Exceptionally_ rare. Their lifestyle and philosophies just aren't conducive to that kind of longevity. But Rue … Rue's been around for forever. She's sat through the reigns of two kings and there isn't a girl in the fortress who hasn't gone to her for one thing or another. I've never seen her come across a woman who's name and history she can't instantly remember, and even the stoniest of Gerudo – like those in Jinni's old camp – pretty much rely on her in ways none of them like to admit, and Nabooru's no exception. You wouldn't necessarily know it to look at her, but she respects Rue in a way she respects few others and I think she's closer to the old woman than she likes to let on.

She and I both.

Hunter shrugs and turns back around, picking up his conversation with Nabooru again. I shake my head to dispel the worried thoughts Nabooru's observations have spawned in my own brain and turn to rest my chin on the top of Zelda's head instead, eyeing the Tower of Farore, embedded in the frozen waters of Lake Hylia, leering down over it. It looks decidedly unfriendly, and yet we continue our course, urging our horses on over the ice and towards it. We gave up on the idea of stealth as soon as we got here. There's nothing between the shore and the Tower but ice, and as such no real was of sneaking up on it, so we're just going to make a beeline and hope for the best.

Besides, the element of surprise only lasts for so long anyway. I doubt anything will try to stop us from entering – Agahnim wants me dead and Zelda captured anyway, so why prevent us from heading to our doom? We're walking into a trap, but we're doing it willing and aware, so there's that much at least.

All in all it's kind of depressing, really.

I tilt my face down and kiss Zelda's hat.

"You know," I say quietly so that Hunter and Nabooru won't hear me, tightening my grip on her waist, "there's an easy way to fix all this."

"Fix all what?" She asks.

"This whole situation," I answer. "To get you back on the throne and kick Agahnim out." Zelda sighs heavily.

"I knew somehow it would come to this," she answers. "I already know what you're going to ask Link, and you already know my answer." I growl into her hat in frustration then pull my face away.

"Why not?" I demand. "Zelda, think about it. If you getting married is all it'll take to get you back in power … then shouldn't we do that? I mean … it's the quickest, easiest way, and it's the one that will probably involve the least amount of bloodshed. Bruiser's already …" I cut myself off and look to the side. It takes me a moment before I can continue. "Look, I just … he's the first but he won't be the last, Zelda." I say quietly. "We need to end this before we've got another war on our hands." Zelda wraps her hand around mine and squeezes.

"I know, Link," she answers. "I know. But you need to understand that it won't end just because I'm back on the throne. And it's not that easy. I can't just … there's so much paperwork, first off, and I don't even have access to the proper forms any more. And on top of it, you're a wanted criminal. _And_ a Gerudo, and the treaty's been nullified. Link, if I married you now I wouldn't be back on the throne, I'd forfeit it for life and then the Kingdom really _would_ be Agahnim's." I continue to frown down at her and she sighs. "Go ahead and ask then," she says. "Go ahead and ask, so I can give you my answer and we can focus on the task at hand if that's what it'll take." I brace myself for the inevitable conclusion.

"Marry me."

"No." I give a morose sigh and bury my face in her hat again. For a moment, neither of us speak. Then:

"That never gets easier to hear, you know," I murmur.

"It never gets easier to say, either, if it makes you feel any better," she murmurs back, still holding my hand.

"Why not?"

"You know why not. We've gone over this a thousand times, Link. Nothing ever changes."

"Hmm." The problem is I _do_ know. And I even half kind of agree. There are a million reasons we can't. There are political reasons of course – Gerudo are still too mistrusted for the nobles to agree to having a Gerudo on the throne of Hyrule, if we do get married Zelda loses almost all of her authority and power almost immediately due to ancient laws that make very little sense considering how many female rulers Hyrule has had, not to _mention_ the sheer _number_ of nobles who just don't like my face. Zelda and I getting married would immediately polarize the political situation in Hyrule which could lead at least to political infighting (more so than usual) among the nobility and at worst to an outright civil war if it went far enough – but these are nothing that with a little luck and a little hard work we couldn't get around in one way or another. I could stop being temperamental with the nobles. That'd be a start. And laws can be changed and edited with enough patience and support, and so on and so forth.

What's really in our way are personal reasons – reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not we love each other, much to my frustration. There's the fact that there's a fifty-fifty chance on any given day that Zelda and I currently aren't speaking to each other. We're both a little too hard-headed and obstinate sometimes for our own good and neither of us really likes to back down and admit we were wrong (let alone apologize). The fights never last for long, but they're still there and until we can learn to deal with each other at our worst then I can't really deny that becoming permanent roommates might not be a good idea. Which isn't to say it's not a risk I'm willing to take, it just means I won't really fight Zelda on it because she's right. Then there's the freedom issue. I like my freedom. I love my freedom. But if I marry Zelda, I won't have that anymore. The right to do what I want, when I want. If I marry Zelda, I become not just King of the Gerudo – who are a people who take care of themselves and as I've pointed out to them time and again they really don't _need_ a King – but King of Hyrule, which is a whole other story. I'm not chained to my throne in the desert, but I'll be chained to the throne of Hyrule, and chained tighter than I am to the Master Sword, which is saying something.

Hyrule needs a ruler who will be there for her whenever there's a need – and there often is. And I just can't be. I can't run two kingdoms at once _and_ be the Hero of Time. Too many conflicting duties. Hyrule's ruler would need to be Hyrule's ruler above and beyond everything else, and I can't. I'm the Hero of Time above and beyond everything else, and being King of Hyrule would just get in the way of that.

Hyrule needs a ruler who _wants_ to be Hyrule's ruler.

And I don't.

I like sleeping in the bunk bed at the archery shop, and riding Epona all over Hyrule and not having to talk about politics every time I meet with a friend who's involved in that kind of thing. Zelda said it best when she said that being King of Hyrule would stifle me in a way nothing else ever has, and she doesn't want to watch that happen to me, any more than I want it to happen to me.

And again, she's right.

But it doesn't keep me from wishing we could. I've had and lost Zelda so many times that I want something certain, something _permanent_. It's not that I'm unhappy with our relationship, or that I'm afraid of us ever leaving each other, and it's not like being married would even _change_ anything between us (though I can't help but think the physical aspect of our relationship would improve dramatically) … it's just … so much in my life has a tendency to do the exact opposite of what I want it to do and go the exact opposite of the way it was supposed to … it would be nice to have just one thing that doesn't change no matter what happens. One thing that's unaffected by the rest of the world.

Even if it's just a piece of paper that says we're married.

Zelda lifts my hand to her lips and kisses it through her scarf.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"'Sall right," I say with a sigh, lifting my head again and rubbing at my nose where the fur tickled it. "I'll just keeping asking. Sooner or later you'll say yes just to shut me up, right?" She laughs but doesn't answer, which is probably for the best.

Ahead of us the Tower of Farore looms larger and we cross into its shadow at last.

All thoughts of marriage and laughing and everything else are driven from my mind as I turn my head up to look at it. My eyes narrow.

"This is it."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Darunia glanced over as Neesha rode up beside him, her face contorted into a mask of annoyance. He grinned at her.

"The icy silence getting to you?" He asked. Her face twisted some more.

"Silence? I _wish_ it was silent! Farore! They're worse than Link and Nabooru!" She slouched down into her scarf and muttered something under her breath.

"What was that?" Darunia asked.

"I said if Agahnim's agents don't kill them in there I will. Assuming they don't kill each other first that is." Darunia laughed.

"I believe you," he said. "A firecracker like you? They wouldn't see it coming." He shook his head. "It's too bad fate paired you up with us," he said. "I bet Link and Hunter could use your help."

"Nah, they've got Nabooru," she said, waving him off with a gloved hand. "And she's a White, and worlds better than me. They're fine."

"Maybe so, maybe so," said Darunia with a wide smile. "But I've seen the three of you do things together no one ever thought you could. You discredit yourself too quickly, young lady." He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know that Nabooru, just the other day, said that in a few years with the proper training she thinks you might be able to give her a run for her money?" Neesha blinked at him.

"She did not," she said flatly. "Nabooru wouldn't say that." She didn't sound as though she really thought Nabooru wouldn't say that. In fact, Darunia was pretty sure it had sounded like a question.

"She did so," Darunia said seriously, straightening up again. "Would I lie to the sister of my sworn brother?" Neesha didn't really think Darunia would lie to anyone if he could avoid it, sworn brother or not.

"Well if you're not lying then she is," she said, but a pleased blush was peeking out over the scarf around her face, and her eyes sparkled with a sudden ambition.

 _Firecracker indeed_ , Darunia thought to himself with a knowing grin. He enjoyed being around the young Gerudo. She was about the age of his own son, and though the similarities between the two were few and far between, she made him feel just a little more confident that he _would_ see his son again. It likely had something to do with her own unfailing certainty that she was invincible – a quality of youth that was at once flaw and strength – it was hard to be uncertain around that kind of faith, whether born of naïveté or not. Neesha looked over at him again.

"Did you really tell Agahnim to jam it when he broke the treaty with us?" She asked. He grinned at her.

"Well those weren't my exact words …" he said.

"What were your exact words?" She pressed. Darunia looked embarrassed all of a sudden.

"Ah," he said, "they were a fair bit harsher than that." He hesitated, but she refused to turn her gaze away, so he sighed and gave up. "I believe I said something along the lines of, 'Agahnim, you filthy stinking bastard, if you think you can just break a treaty that took a decade of war to create with a people who have only just recently proven themselves to be absolutely one hundred percent trustworthy than you've got another think coming. If you don't immediately forfeit your position and hand power back over to Zelda, the rightful ruler of Hyrule, and reinstate the treaty with the Gerudo and lift the ban on them, then no Hylian will be welcome in Goron City _or_ Death Mountain under the same penalties as you have imposed on the Gerudo. Furthermore, all trade between the Gorons and the Hylians will be stopped, as we do not trade with petty, puffed up, parasitic little keese, which you have proven yourself to be. The Gorons recognize Zelda as the legitimate heir to the throne of Hyrule during King Daphnes' sickness and will answer to no other – especially filthy, usurping little insects. _Further_ more, I think you are an ugly, thieving, conniving, underhanded, double-crossing, back-stabbing, heartless, dung-eating son of a bitch and look forward to the day you meet your end on the tip of the Master Sword, which is not to say that you are deserving of such a death, unless of course the Hero kills you in an alleyway and leaves to the dogs with whom you have so much in common.'" He takes a deep breath and looks thoughtful. "Except I remember swearing," he adds. "Slip in a swearword every two or three words and you'll pretty much have it." Neesha was staring at him with wide-eyes.

"You said all that?" She demanded. "Really?"

"Tell me, little one, are you in the habit of disbelieving everything everyone tells you?" He said with a wry grin. "Yes, I really said that. I lost my temper, I'll admit it, but I meant every word just the same and wouldn't take it back for the world."

"Wow," Neesha said, impressed. Then, "Thanks." Darunia blinked in surprise.

"For?" He asked.

"For sticking up for us," she answered, turning her gaze ahead. "For not siding with him just because we're Gerudo."

"Pshh," Darunia said, waving her off. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. And so would any other Goron worth his salt. Not even Karun complained about what I'd done, and he's the most diplomatically minded Goron I know. I think we've all found a certain sort of kinship with your people that we never could with the Sheikah or the Zora. A lot of people gave up a lot of things for that kinship, Neesha, and I won't see it ended because of a two-bit, no-good, decrepit old fogy." Neesha flashed him a rare smile that he sensed, rather than saw, and for a heart-wrenching moment she really did remind him of his own Link.

As though that thought reminded them both of where they were and what they were doing, they turned their heads forwards as they crossed into the shadow of the Tower of Din. Even Acqul and Dune fell silent as their horses crossed into the dark spot, and they hadn't shut up since Acqul had suggested that perhaps Dune should not be riding point with Darunia as she was so blatantly blind to things that were obvious and right in front of her face she wouldn't make a very good scout, and to which Dune had replied that it was better than riding with Acqul who would likely just abandon them all if he even _thought_ there was danger ahead.

The Tower of Din loomed silent and ominous in front of them as the snow began to fall.

It was time.

***

"What do you think, Brayden?" Karun asked as the latter climbed back down from the ledge, taking his time on the treacherous footholds. Brayden shook his head.

"It's coming straight for us," he said. "I don't think it'll be as big as the blizzard we had a few weeks back, but it'll be a blizzard none the less. We need to find shelter before it hits or we're done for. The mountains are no place to be in a storm."

"There was a cave a few hours back," Rue suggested, gesturing behind her with her walking stick. "We could hole up there until it's over." Brayden shook his head.

"We won't make it, the storm's moving too fast. We need something now." Karun and Rue didn't doubt him. Already the snow had thickened from flurries to something a little thicker and the wind was picking up.

"We press on then," Karun said, his face troubled. "Nothing for it. Keep your eyes sharp for signs of a cave or even a good overhang. Anything that could serve as shelter. We'll take the first one we come to." Brayden and Rue nodded and they set off again, moving quicker than they had before.

Ten minutes later, however, they had still found nothing – not so much as a crack – and the snow had worsened exponentially. They were forced to stay closer together for fear of losing each other in the thickening whiteness, to say nothing of the fear of stepping off the path and over a ledge.

"This is no good," Brayden finally shouted over the wind, turning around to face the other two. "We're going to have to – what's that?" Their heads jerked around to stare in the direction of the new noise – a loud rumbling, akin to thunder, and growing louder by the minute – though they could see nothing through the snow.

Karun's eyes widened and he shouted something. Though the rumbling was too loud for Brayden to hear, the word was unmistakable.

Avalanche.

Karun reacted instantly, leaping forward and pulling Rue to him. Goron bodies were hard as rocks when they had to be, but Gerudo and Sheikah bodies were not. Brayden moved towards him, understanding his intent, but the next moment it was too late. Karun and Rue disappeared under a surge of white and the next instant Brayden felt it slam into him as well.

For a moment, everything was white … and then it all went black.


	7. Dramatics

#  **Chapter 7 and Interludes**

" _Sir, I admit your general rule,  
That every poet is a fool,  
But you yourself may serve to show it,  
Every fool is not a poet._"

– Alexander Pope

##  **A Brief Interlude**

With much grunting and groaning Karun forced himself straight, throwing the snow off him with one final effort. He put his hands on his knees for a moment and tried to catch his breath as Rue struggled up out of the snow as well.

"What in the Goddess' name was _that_?" She demanded shrilly. There were sounds of her fumbling in the dark and then flint being struck and the next second a torch was lit, illuminating their surroundings. Rue was shivering badly. Her hat had been lost in the avalanche and her scarf wasn't nearly as tight as it should have been.

"Avalanche," Karun answered, casting a look around. "Snow builds up on the mountain tops all year long. Sometimes it gets too heavy and tonnes of it – and I mean that in the literal sense – will just break off and tumble down the mountain, running over everyone in its path. It's kind of like a tidal wave, but you've probably never seen one of those either." Rue was shaking the snow out of her hair.

"I've seen a waterfall," she answered. "Is it like that?"

"Close enough," Karun replied with a dark frown. They were in a cave of some sort. The avalanche had pushed them through its mouth and then subsequently blocked it off. Icy stalagmites and stalactites glistened in the torchlight all along a tunnel that led deeper into the mountain. Rue's torch didn't give off enough light to see very far down it, so Karun turned instead and surveyed the pile of snow behind them. The exit was effectively blocked, though Karun was confident it was nothing he couldn't get through. A rolling start and he could barrel through the snow like it was water, but that would likely destabilize the whole pile and send it collapsing around him, and if he hit something half way through or it went further than he could handle? And besides, that still left Rue and Brayden trapped in the cave.

He straightened abruptly.

Brayden!

"Rue," he gasped, whirling around again. "Where's Brayden? Did you see him?" Rue blinked in surprise.

"The Sheikah?" Her next breath came out as a hiss. "Dammit … no, I didn't. It happened too fast." She stared at the snow. "Could he be in there?"

"He might be," Karun said helplessly. "I don't know. He may not be. The avalanche may have taken him somewhere else, depending on the landscape where we were hit."

"Well we'll have to look to be sure then," Rue said, tightening her scarf. "There's nothing for it. I can't go back to the desert without him, Link will never forgive me." Karun took the torch from her and moved a bit away, forcing it upright between two close-knit stalactites.

"Agreed," he said.

They set to work.

***

"Now what?"

All three of them stared up at the building in consternation. As far as they could see there was no entrance. They'd all been around it at least twice, and Neesha was currently on her third round. Darunia scratched his head.

"Well," he said, "I could try and bash us an entrance. Or maybe burn us one. But I don't really think either of those will work." Icy silence greeted his statement. Dune and Acqul had once again fallen into a sullen silence. Darunia really didn't know if he was grateful for this or not. On the one hand, at least they weren't at each other's throats. On the other, silence was silence was silence, and Darunia had never been one for silence.

He fervently wished for a brief instant that they were both Gorons so that he could just take them, knock their heads together and beat some sense into them.

Unfortunately, they were not. And he was pretty sure that Zoran and Sheikan heads weren't designed to be bashed like that.

So instead he just shook his head and rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh, making a mental note to complain to Ruto and Impa about it and let the two of them do whatever passed for head bashing among their own races when people were being so frustratingly near sighted.

"All right, let's go get—"

He was cut off by a sudden high-pitched cry of pain.

"Neesha!"

All three of them were off like a shot. Darunia curled up mid-run and had outdistanced the two the next second, rounding the corner of the tower at his top speed, skidding to a stop and de-balling the next instant, staring in shock at the scene presented to him.

A giant serpent of some kind was coiled near the tower. It reminded Darunia in a _very_ unpleasant way of a yellowish-green, rattle-snake – at least as large as Volvagia had been, though with decidedly less intelligence shining from the unfriendly black eyes. For a half second he was transported back to his fight with the great fiery dragon and remembered with a lead feeling in his gut that he hadn't done so well against it. Giant snakes were not really his forte. If it hadn't been for Link …. The thing stared at him, then hissed unpleasantly, and the next instant all thoughts of Volvagia and failure were driven from his mind in a rush of horror when he caught sight of the struggling figure trapped in its maw.

"Neesha!" He bellowed a furious battle cry and rolled up again, off like a shot at the creature just as Acqul and Dune finally caught up and rounded the corner. Darunia took advantage of a sloped section of ground and launched himself off of it, wicked looking spikes extending from his form as he did so. Darunia struck the serpent and bounced off again, violently enough that when he hit the ground he landed on his feet, but was no longer in a ball. Acqul's fins snapped out and went rigid and he crossed his arms in front of his face, then ripped them down and to the side. The fins flew like boomerangs, grazing the side of the serpent and sending a shower of sparks into the air, but doing no further damage.

"The tail!" Neesha shouted, her voice barely audible over the odd rumble that had filled the air since Darunia had rounded the corner. "Go for its— _ah_!" Her face twisted with pain as the creature tightened its grip on her. It began to uncoil and move away from the tower. The three on the ground immediately redirected their attention to its segmented tail, the hilt of a Gerudo scimitar just barely visible between the ridges.

"You two, go!" Darunia shouted. "I'll catch her. Make it let her go!"

The next instant Acqul's fins were slicing through the air again and Dune was rushing at the tail, a rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other. They each hit and the creature reared up suddenly, opening its mouth wide and giving a furious hiss of pain. Neesha reacted the instant she had a chance. She wrenched her arm up – Darunia couldn't see why – and then threw herself out of the serpent's mouth, closing her eyes and waiting to hit the ground.

Darunia was faster than that, though.

He slid beneath her, catching her before she could hit anything, and immediately back peddled before the snake had time to fully comprehend what had just happened and do something about it.

"It's dead!" Neesha was hissing, her face pale as she clutched at her arm. "Goddess damned … piece of … I'll kill it, I swear!"

The snake, having just realized what had happened, looked for a brief instant as though it would strike down at Darunia and Neesha again, but the next saw Acqul and Dune closing in once again on its bloodied tail and turned instead with one last hiss and fled.

Acqul moved to chase it, but Dune caught him, holding him back.

"No!" She cried. "Let it go! We can—"

"What?" Acqul shrieked, shoving her off of him. "Let it go? It just tried to kill Neesha!" He moved to chase it again, but she intercepted him again.

"Would you use your brain for once in your _life_!" Dune cried. "That thing obviously came from the tower! It's leaving a trail of blood now, it'll lead us right to its lair." Acqul narrowed his eyes and directed his attention to the serpent which disappeared over a ridge as he watched. He realized Dune was right, but this did nothing for his mood. He turned a malevolent glare back on her.

"What _is_ it with you and defending monsters?" He demanded venomously.

"I'm not _defending_ anyth—" Her voice died off and her face went pale when she realized what he was referring to. A part of him quailed under the sudden rush of hurt in her gaze and immediately wanted to take it back, but another was remembering the night Laruto had been stolen from him, and who had been the thief and he crushed the urge mercilessly. Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched and she started to tremble with rage.

"My son," she hissed, biting off each word, "is _not_ a monster." Acqul was shaking now too.

"If your son's no monster," he hissed, "then my daughter is sitting safe at home in her bed."

A cry from behind them broke their glaring contest just before it could erupt into violence. They both turned to look at where Darunia was gingerly trying to roll up the sleeve of Neesha's winter coat to look at her arm. Her face was twisted into a grimace of what might have been pain, but was more likely embarrassment that she'd cried out at all.

"If that _thing_ comes back for her, and anything happens to her," Acqul hissed under his breath, "I'm holding you responsible."

"Oh I'm sure she'll be just _fine_ ," Dune responded caustically. "After all you're here to protect her, aren't you? Everyone knows you did such a _wonderful_ job defending your own daughter from a boy who's hardly lifted a sword a day in his life. A fifty foot snake should be a _snap_ after that." She put on a burst of speed before he could reply. "I hope he breaks your neck next time instead of your arm." She muttered it, but Acqul heard it all the same.

Darunia looked up as they approached, taking in the pale faces and clenched fists. Intense irritation flickered across his face and he frowned at them.

"Which one of you has the first aid kit?" He demanded. "I need to clean this out before we do anything else."

"Dune does," Acqul got out between clenched teeth. Dune glared back at him.

"Sorry, _Acqul_ , but _you_ were supposed to bring it."

"What?" Acqul cried. " _You_ were the one who was supposed to—"

"CUT IT OUT!" Darunia shouted suddenly, getting to his feet and glaring at them. " _For Nayru's sake_ , could you put this petty fight behind you long enough to get Neesha healed up? Do either of you have a first-aid kit?" Dune and Acqul were both staring at him in shock. They shook their heads mutely. "Then get out of my sight!" He roared.

They did.

He turned, still fuming, back to Neesha who was trying to get to her feet. He pushed down on her shoulder and forced her back onto the ground.

"I'm fine," she growled.

"I don't doubt it," Darunia returned, dropping to his knees beside her. "If everything I've learned of Gerudo so far is true I'd be surprised if this would stop you. But it still needs to be bandaged up, and I'm worried about poison."

"I'm not poisoned," Neesha responded. "It wasn't trying to kill me. I don't think it even really meant to bite me." Darunia raised an eyebrow as he pulled his scarf off and started wrapping it tightly around her wound as a make-shift bandage.

"How do you know?" He asked. "You can read the minds of snakes now, can you?"

"It's not complicated," she responded, making a face. "If it wanted me dead, why didn't it just swallow me? _Especially_ after I'd stabbed it's damn tail. It was angry, I'll tell you that much. Why didn't it bite me harder? Why _didn't_ it use its venom?" She raised an eyebrow at her. "I didn't spend that long in its damned mouth, impaled on one of its teeth, just to get out of it with no more than a flesh wound because it wanted me dead." Darunia nodded quietly – it made sense (except the flesh wound part. It went a bit beyond flesh wound, but that was a Gerudo for you. If they weren't dead, it was just a flesh wound), though he couldn't begin to guess why the serpent wouldn't have just killed her. He squeezed her arm gently, watching for some sign of pain on her face to see how bad it hurt. Her face didn't change, but he could see pain dancing behind her eyes so he released the pressure with a shake of his head. It was definitely worse than she was letting on.

"Are you all right to fight?" He asked her.

"It's my bad hand anyway," she said flatly. "I don't need it, and I can use it I have to." Darunia frowned doubtfully, but didn't bother fighting with her. He'd seen enough of her on his own, and heard enough other stories from those who knew her better, to know that there was no point.

"All right then," he said, offering her a hand up. "Let's go collect Tweedle-dee and Tweedledum and get this show on the road."

***

"He's not here," Karun said finally, sitting back on his haunches and staring grimly at the snow in front of him. "Or if he is he's dead by now from the cold." His hands were numb from the digging. Rue looked worse off than him. She wasn't used to the cold, but she hadn't complained once. She narrowed her eyes at the snow and let her breath out in a hiss.

"Nayru," she breathed, tucking her gloved hands beneath her arms in a futile attempt to warm them. "Farore and Din." For a second they sat there in silence.

"Do you know where we are?" Rue finally asked.

"Not a clue," Karun answered. "But we haven't got much choice but to find out, I suppose."

"You said it's possible that Brayden was carried somewhere else?"

"Yes."

"So he might not be dead?"

"It's a possibility," Karun said cautiously. "But … the odds are slim."

"Well," Rue said resolutely, getting to her feet, unable to hide a wince at the ache in her joints as she did so, "one way or another we'll find out if he really is Link's father." Karun blinked at her as he got to his feet as well, no less achy than she.

"Come again?" He asked. She flashed him a mirthless grin.

"If he is, then the odds shouldn't matter to him." She turned to pick up their torch. "Because they've never mattered to Link."

***

##  **Chapter 7**

" _Well, I left the desert to find me a man,  
For we're all women there, do you ken?  
But my quest, it would seem, was doomed as it began,  
For Sheikah they aren't really men._"

"Don't do this, Nabooru," Hunter says. "I'm warning you …"

" _For men are so wonderfully muscled,  
They can give it as well as they get,  
Always they're up for a tussle,  
A _real _man you won't soon forget."_

"Stop now, or I'll be forced to respond in kind!" Hunter says warningly.

" _But Sheikah, they're weak and they're sickly,  
Sheikah, they're all skin and bones,  
With Sheikah it's over too quickly,  
And if you've met one, t'other's his clone._"

"Ohhhh, this means war," Hunter growls at her. "You're crossing so many lines."

"Is it just me," Zelda asks, "or are they getting worse?"

" _So if it's a man that you're after,  
You had best find a young Hylian,  
A Sheikah, he's good just for laughter,  
Since, Sheikah, they aren't really men._"

"They're getting worse," I agree. "On every level. Verse and, uh … the level of bawdiness."

"Oh you haven't seen anything yet," Nabooru says with a wicked little smile. "If you're little Sheikan friend insists on pursuing this war of words to its conclusion he's going to find out just how bawdy I can be."

"Hmph," Hunter says. "I'm not surprised you're proud of that," he says. "But regardless, it won't be me who looses, Nabooru, darling. Not to a Gerudo I won't." Nabooru threw him a smile that held every ounce of confident superiority she had in her. I wince for Hunter's sake. I don't think I've ever seen her lose when she's wearing that face.

On the other hand … Hunter's got no shortage of confident superiority himself and he's returning the look in kind.

"We should break that up before we're forced to listen to more goddess-awful songs," Zelda says, making a face. I nod and we split up, she slides silkily between Hunter and Nabooru and immediately engages Nabooru in a discussion that has nothing to do with anything, leading her away from Hunter, who crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at me, knowing full well what Zelda and I are doing.

"You guys our babysitters now?" He asks, raising his eyebrow. I smirk at him.

"Actually I think you're mine," I respond. "And you're setting a very bad example, you know. I'm easily influenced. Impressionable young mind and all that." Hunter snorts and falls into step at my side.

"Most five year olds are," he returns, then immediately ducks under the swipe I take at him. As he moves I catch a glint in his eye that means he's got me right where he wants me and has been waiting for an opportunity just like this. I hate that glint. I try to recover from my swipe in time to defend myself, but Hunter's quicker, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back then pushing me up against the wall.

"Bastard!" I snarl. I should have seen this coming. Nabooru and Zelda both whip around at my cry, then raise incredulous eyebrows at us. Hunter throws them his best smile.

"No worries, ladies," he calls. "The King and I need to have a little chat is all. Carry on." Nabooru frowns and looks at me and I sigh against the wall.

"Just go," I grumble. "Whatever he wants to say he'll just catch me later and I'll have to go through this again." I can't see Zelda from behind the suit of armour between us, but I can hear her give an irritated little sigh and then she and Nabooru continue walking.

"Don't go far!" Hunter calls as an afterthought. "Just wait for us around the corner! Last thing we need is to get separated!" Hunter makes a face at something I can't see past the armour. "Vulgar woman." He turns back to me and opens his mouth, but I've acted a half-second before he realizes I have, twisting my arm out of his grip and whirling around to grab him. He tries to dodge, but he's too late and the next second it's him pinned between the suits of armour lining the walls.

"You're very nosy," I tell him pleasantly. "And you know for a fact it's none of your business." He struggles in my grip, turning his head so I can see half of his smirk.

"You know you want to talk about it," he says. "I was just initiating the conversation."

"By pinning me against a wall?" Hunter raises a foot suddenly and places it on the wall, pushing off with all his strength. We stumble back and I strike the other side of the hallway, my grip going slack for a half a second – it's long enough for Hunter. He rips out of my grip and whirls around to face me, feet in a relaxed ready stance, and hands raised. I take up my own ready stance and try to grin at him. It must look half-hearted because Hunter's expression softens a bit and he lowers his hands, crossing his arms instead and shifting his wait.

"Sometimes I have to pin you down to get you to talk about anything," he replies. "You bolt more often than not if it's a touchy subject, and there aren't many subjects in your life touchier than Zelda."

"You know you once told me you hated heart to hearts," I point out with a sigh, lowering my hands as well and leaning up against the wall.

"I do," Hunter answers. "When I'm the one who has to confide in someone. I like _my_ secrets right where they are."

"And I don't?"

"More like I don't care if you do," he answers. "You said it yourself, I'm nosy. And you're awful when it comes to dealing with people in anything resembling a tactful manner, and I don't know if you noticed, but Zelda is not only a people, she's a tactful people."

"I believe Zelda is a person, and not a people. If she was a people, that would imply more than one of her, or that she was a nationality of some kind. As in, I am a Zelda, from the land of Zeldor. See that? Get it straight or Nabooru really will beat you at your war of words."

"Want to know what I believe?" Hunter asks, ignoring my jibe entirely and raising an eyebrow at me in a way that suggests what I want is more or less not on the list of things he cares about.

"No," I respond anyway.

"I believe that when I turned around at the door to his damnable tower I caught a glimpse of your face and you were wearing that irritating stony, stoic expression that doesn't suit you at all and looks so out of place on your face that it _screams_ that something is desperately wrong with you. I also believe that the only reason you ever get that face is because there is something you really don't want to talk about. Furthermore, I believe that there are very few things you ever try to hide, _especially_ from me, and one of those things is usually Zelda – or more specifically, some sort of rejection involving Zelda." I glare at him, angry suddenly.

"Maybe because those are very personal things," I respond hotly, "and maybe I actually have a right to keep them to myself if I don't feel like talking about them." Hunter's expression is carefully neutral – which only serves to incense me further, which, of course, is exactly what he wants, but there's no helping it.

And he knows it.

"Why do you care anyway?" I demand, glaring at him. "It's none of your business. It doesn't involve you." He raises an eyebrow at me.

"You're going to mope about it," he says bluntly. "You're going to mope, and sulk, and leave me alone with Neesha and the rest of the crazy Gerudo. I'd say it involves me."

"They're not crazy," I snap.

"They willingly follow you," he returns easily. "I stand by my assessment."

"So do you," I respond angrily.

"I don't follow you," Hunter responds calmly. "I tag along because I generally enjoy your company and because _someone_ has to watch your back and you have a tendency to take on so much at one time that it'll take more than just Neesha to do it. That's generally what friends do, Link. Watch out for each other." Here it comes. The clincher. I've lost this argument before it even started. "And that's all I'm doing now. You're not the type who deals well with repressing things, Link. You generally don't, nor should you. It doesn't work for you. So let's just have it out now, so you can move on with your life." He gestures an invitation to start walking with him again. I glare flatly at me without budging, but his face doesn't change, and I eventually accept it – grudgingly.

" _You_ repress things," I respond sullenly, pushing myself off the wall and moving down the hall. "You repress everything. All the time. Why can't I?"

"First off," Hunter replies, "the _instant_ you even _suspect_ that I'm repressing something, you're all over me to drag it out of me. Forgive me if I return your lack of respect for my privacy. Second off, I told you; repression isn't good for you. As in you in particular. Your personality isn't suited for it. When you spend 24/7 wearing your heart on your sleeve, it'll only do more damage if you suddenly hide it, all right?"

"Hmph," I respond. "If my heart's on my sleeve where's yours?"

"Locked up in a cast iron box and cast into the bottomless sea of my soul where it can shrivel and blacken for want of the sun," he answers with a grin. I roll my eyes at him.

"If you can be dramatic, can I be dramatic?" I ask.

"You're not very good at it," he says, "but sure, why not. Go ahead and be dramatic if it'll make you feel better. Anything is better than you being all sad and quiet." For the briefest of instants he drops his usual nonchalant mask to let me see that he really means it before he puts it back up again.

If there was any fight left in me … it left with that. I sigh.

"I'll leave the dramatics aside for now," I say heavily. "Haven't really got the energy for it, to tell you the truth."

"And why is that?" Hunter asks. I frown but don't meet his gaze.

"You're telling me you can't guess?"

"I'm telling you we'll both feel better if you say it yourself." I sigh again.

"Fine. So … I might have proposed to Zelda."

"Again?"

"Yes. And … she might have said no."

"Again."

"Yes."

"How many times is this now? Five?"

"Seven." He blinks in surprise and I suddenly feel ashamed, like I've done something wrong not telling him about the other two. "You were in Kakariko," I say by way of explanation. "And I was gone back to the desert before you got back to Castletown." Hunter doesn't seem to care. He's shaking his head.

"Seven times," he says slowly. "Sorry, man." I shrug his sympathy off.

"It doesn't matter," I answer with fake lightness. "I wasn't expecting her to say yes. She never does. It was a long shot anyway."

"Still," Hunter says, "it can't get any easier to hear."

And there it is.

No useless words of comfort, no empty optimism, no false, offensive hope. Just a simple understanding of the way things are. He doesn't feel bad _for_ me, he feels bad _with_ me. Not sympathy, but empathy. I cast a glance at him out of the corner of one blue eye and he returns it out of the corner of one not-quite-green-not-quite-blue eye and we both smile.

That brief, half-a-second glance is all either of our testosterone will allow before we both clear our throats and direct our attention ahead again.

"Let's catch up with the girls," Hunter says.

"Good—" I freeze in my tacks, ears perked up suddenly.

"What is it?" Hunter asks.

"Do you hear that?" I ask, casting a glance back down the hall we've just come down. Hunter freezes as well and strains his ears.

"Banging," he says. "Yeah I hear it."

"It's getting louder." Without another word we both draw our weapons, tensed, ears straining, trying to pinpoint the location and source of the noise.

"It's familiar," I murmur, the steady thumping rhythm tickling something at the back of my brain. I run through the mental bestiary in my head, "but I can't—" the end of my sentence is cut off by the loudest bang yet – loud enough to shake the whole hall and send dust showering down on us. Hunter and I tense in the impossible silence that comes after, stretching unbearably.

"It's stopped."

"Maybe it—" A creaking from above us cuts through the silence like a bolt. Hunter and I both turn our faces upwards at the same time in what would no doubt be a comical fashion if not for how hard my heart is thumping in my chest.

"You know," Hunter says nervously, eying the ceiling – in which spider webs of cracks are starting to spread – as we both start backing up. "We've been in the tower for about a half-hour without seeing hide nor hair of a guard or anything."

"So?" I demand, following him back.

"So if they were going to spring an ambush on us, now would be the—"

An all-too-familiar _shhhhhhhhk_ sound from behind us cuts him off and we turn around. I am unsurprised to see a series of iron bars now barring our progress down the hall.

"Dammit! Nabooru!" I shout, trying to keep my panic out of my voice. "Zelda! We need—"

Before I can finish a noise akin to an explosion assaults our eardrums as the roof suddenly bursts apart in a shower of shrapnel and dust, and a large hulking something falls through it.

"Link!" Hunter grabs the back of my tunic and hauls me bodily backwards, throwing me behind him and into the bars as the thing falls through the ceiling and hits the floor, smashing through it as well. I catch sight of a vaguely humanoid shape and the rough texture of stone before it disappears, taking half of the floor with it.

"Hunter, watch out!" I cry as the floor beneath him starts to give way. His eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet, but he's not fast enough. The floor gives out underneath him and before I quite know what's happening his head has disappeared. "Hunter!" I shout.

"Link!" Someone shouts behind me. "Your hookshot!" I react instantly, ripping the aforementioned item out of my pouch and throwing myself on my hands and knees on the edge of the ragged whole in the floor, ignoring the fact that it still doesn't look all that stable.

"Catch!" I shout down the hole, releasing the catch and propelling the grappling hook downwards, praying desperately that I won't hit him. Hunter and the hook both disappear into the darkness for a heart-wrenching instant I'm convinced I was too late but an instant later there's a wrench on the hookshot and I could cry with relief as I brace myself against the sudden pull. I feel something in my shoulder give, but I don't care.

"Hunter! Are you all right?" I shout.

"Besides the fact that I'm hanging over what appears to be a bottomless pit in the middle of an evil tower with nothing for my life to depend on but your girly arms?" He shouts back, his voice weak and trembling from the near-miss, but grateful all the same. "Yeah. I think I'm all right. Be better if you'd pull me up though." I laugh despite the insult (which isn't to say I don't make a mental note to show him just how 'girly' my arms are later) and my gut unclenches.

"I don't know if the mechanism is strong enough to pull you straight up," I answer him, "and I don't want to break it, so I'm gonna have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Is Nabooru there?" Hunter calls back up. I cast a glance over my shoulder and notice both Zelda and Nabooru standing on the other side of the bars looking as relieved as I feel.

"Yeah, why?" I ask.

"It's just that her arms are so much more manly than yours I think she might have an easier time of it."

"You could drop him, you know," Nabooru suggests.

"I could drop you, you know," I tell Hunter. There's a laugh from down below and in response I start backing up as quickly as I can manage while keeping two hands on the hookshot. I don't want to stand up just yet – the floor's not very stable – but a sudden jerk on my hookshot and a startled shout from below force me to freeze again. The weight on my hookshot increases.

"Hunter!" I gasp, straining against it. "Hunter! What's going on?"

"There's something else down—" Before Hunter can finish telling us what's going on my hookshot is violently ripped from my hands and disappears down the hole.

"Hunter!" I cry. There's no answer. There's a little gasp followed by a faint pink glow and another _shhhhhhhhk_ from behind me and the next thing I know Zelda and Nabooru are dragging me back from the edge which has begun to crumble a bit again and helping me to my feet. "Dammit!" I hiss.

"What happened?" Zelda demands.

"Something's got him!" I cry, gripping her shoulder tightly. "We've got to get down there!"

"How?" Nabooru demands, worrying her lower lip and staring at the hole. "You want us to jump?" I blink, the panic in my brain clearing just long enough for a solution to present itself.

"Yes." I answer flatly and grab them both around the waist before they can react.

"Link!"

"Wait!"

"Nayru's Love!" And before the blue shield is completely done forming I've leapt down the hole and into the dark, dragging the two sages rather unceremoniously with me.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"When a person comes to after having been knocked out in any kind of violent fashion, the general consensus is that they wished they hadn't. Come to, that is."

Brayden tried to force his eyes open but found he couldn't just yet. He wasn't entirely sure he was disappointed. He had a vague impression that the throbbing in his head would only grow exponentially should he spontaneously expose his poor battered brain to any kind of light.

"I think it's likely a combination of a headache and a desire to _not_ have to remember what knocked them out in the first place, myself. I can't imagine it would be nice to come to and the first thing you remember is that."

Avalanche. There had been an avalanche. Blinding, suffocating white.

"As your awareness returns to your brain, it'll gradually return to your body too and then you'll start to feel whatever injuries you sustained in whatever situation it was that got you knocked out in the first place."

His shoulder, his lower back, both his knees, one elbow and one ankle, his chest and his left side all ached suddenly, as though on cue. Too many different types of aches to place them all. Something was cut, something was bruised, something was broken. He couldn't tell what yet. The pain all kind of merged into a general hodgepodge of hurt with no identifiable source or location. Brayden groaned and forced his eyes open at last. The aforementioned exponential growth of the throbbing commenced.

"And last but not least, the feeling of disorientation as you try to remember where you are and why, and, in some cases, most likely yours as well, you can't."

"Who's—" He winced as the sound of his own voice drove needles into his brain, but he pushed on anyway. "Who's there? Karun? Rue?" It certainly didn't sound like Karun or Rue, but he was pretty sure he'd been knocked around and who knew how badly damaged his head was.

"I'm afraid not," the voice answered. A kindly old face inserted itself between the light and Brayden's eyes and smiled benignly down at him. "Were they with you with when the avalanche hit?"

"Yes," Brayden croaked and tried to sit up. Gnarled hands on his shoulders pushed him back down, the strength in them belying the brittle appearance. "I have to find them," he protested weakly, unable to fight the old man at the moment. "I can't … Karun'll be all right, but Rue … Link will … never forgive me if she's hurt … she's practically … practically his grandmother." The old eyes were suddenly interested, keen in their intensity.

"Link?" He inquired. His voice gave nothing away but curiosity, but not even the bruises and cuts and fractures could completely override Sheikan training, and suspicion immediately danced with the pain in Brayden's eyes.

"Who are you?" He demanded. "Where are my companions? Where am I?"

"I mean you no harm," the man said, nothing but warmth and comfort in his tone. "I'm just an old hermit who grew bored with the ins and outs of life in the city and decided to take up residence in a cave in the mountains. You're currently lying on my bed in said cave. As for your companions … well, to be honest with you I haven't the foggiest idea."

"Hermit?" Brayden asked, wishing it didn't hurt so much to talk. "Are you … Sahasrahla?"

"Sahasrahla?" The old man said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want with that old coot?" The hermit asked him. "Never mind," he said suddenly when Brayden opened his mouth. "What's important now is that you rest. Open your mouth and swallow this, it'll speed up the healing process." Debating the wisdom of swallowing anything a crazy old man who lives a cave wanted him to, and burning with irritation that he had managed to find an old hermit who lived in the mountains and it was not, in fact, the one he had been seeking, Brayden opened his mouth anyway. Whatever it was it tasted awful. "Sorry," the old man apologized. "Had to make it with stale ingredients. Winter time and all that. And I've been out of sugar to take the edge off it with for weeks."

"What is it?" Brayden demanded between coughing fits which sent pain screaming from his chest as he did so.

"Healing potion. Sort of," the hermit answered. "Not a great one, unfortunately. Like I said, old ingredients, but it'll be enough to get you moving again, and that's something."

"Thanks," Brayden managed weakly.

"Well, I don't get visitors often so I can afford a little hospitality here and there," he answered. "Now, tell me what your friends look like and I'll see if I can't find them for you."

"Are you sure you should—" The old man made a tutting noise.

"I know these caves like the back of my hand," he answered. "If I can't find them, boy, they can't be found."

Brayden briefly wondered if the flash of irritation he felt in his chest at being called 'boy' was what Link, Hunter and Neesha went through when they were referred to as 'kids.'

"Karun's a Goron, kind of hard to miss. He's got a stiff leg and he limps on it, and his fair share of scars from the war."

"Which war?"

"Take your pick."

"Ah. And Rue?"

"She's a … woman," Brayden said, just managing to choke back the Gerudo. If the old man had been up here for as long as he looked like he had he may still be prey to the old prejudices more strongly than most. "About 80. Long grey-hair. Narrow eyes. Usually looks unimpressed no matter how impressive whatever she's looking at."

"Rue, eh?" The old man said, his eyes cunning. "An interesting name indeed." Brayden frowned at him, but the cunning was gone, replaced with a sort of friendly befuddlement. "Well, I'll see if I can't find them for you. In the meantime, just lie there and don't hurt yourself more than you are. The potion should kick in shortly. It'll fix most of you up, but I'm afraid your ribs are going to be bruised for a while – potion's not strong enough to mend them completely I'm afraid. Not with all your other scrapes and bruises." And with that he was gone. Brayden stared after him and frowned, the impression that the old man was a lot more than he was letting on gnawing away at his brain.

He sighed after a moment and forced himself up with a grunt and a loud groan. It hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would – the potion must have definitely been kicking in – but a dull pain in his chest told him the old man hadn't been lying about his ribs. He quickly took stock of his surroundings.

The cave was small, but warm and homely. Round in shape and decorated with simple wooden furniture and a single, lush carpet spread out in front of a fire place carved into the back wall (how the old man had managed to carve a fireplace into a wall of solid stone was beyond Brayden). Knick knacks covered just about every inch of free space, glittering merrily in the firelight – some looked expensive, some looked cheap, but each and everyone of them screamed of importance in one way or another.

Sentimentality and power.

The whole place was filled with both.

Brayden suddenly wondered if there really were two old hermits in the mountain after all.

"Old coot, indeed," he muttered, getting slowly to his feet and testing his weight on his knees. They stung like a son-of-a-bitch but he gritted his teeth and forced them to move anyway. He could just _see_ the three kids if they saw him hobbling around. The old jokes would never stop. They'd go on and on about it until he was forced to kill them all.

Regrettable, but justifiable, he was sure.

The urge to snoop tickled at his brain as he peered at the scattered shelves and table tops. It was part training, but mostly it was just him, and he'd never been one to resist the urge for long. And besides, the old man didn't seem willing to answer any questions, so he'd have to find the answers on his own.

He wandered around the small room, touching things carefully, smiling at some and frowning at others, careful to disturb nothing, until he came to a small, silver mirror placed upside down on one shelf. It caught his attention for some reason and he stared at it with a small frown. He raised his hand towards it, but stopped half-way, uneasy for some reason.

It was just a simple mirror. A little hand-held thing, probably used by some woman who had mattered to the old hermit at one point in his life. Intricate engravings laced around the silver and down the handle. The symbol of the Sheikah graced the back of it. It was beautiful, but at the same time it frightened him a little. He frowned, growled, and forced his hand forward before he could doubt his motives.

His fingers wrapped around the handle and he winced despite himself, waiting.

Nothing happened.

Breathing a sigh of relief, though he wasn't sure why, Brayden lifted the mirror and turned it around to glance at its surface.

What greeted him, however, was not a set of forest eyes and blonde hair touched with grey. What greeted him was a set of blood-red eyes set into an ebony face that looked frighteningly like his son. He didn't even get the chance to register the Sheikan inscription, written in the old tongue, carved around the glass, or the small, round depression just above the glass, before he swore violently and threw the mirror away from himself, sending it clattering back onto the shelf and scattering the other objects around it. He stared at it in shock, too horrified to bother straightening the things around it to cover his tracks. He felt weak and small suddenly. He didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to get near it. He wished he'd never seen it.

Dark Link.

That had been Dark Link.

The eyes … the grin … the malevolent, obsessive hatred glaring in every line of his face …

Brayden resisted the urge to bolt out the door and made his trembling, pale way back over to the bed and pulled himself up onto it, leaning against the wall and staring at the mirror, rigid and unmoving … fighting not to succumb to the nightmare memories that threatened to overtake him.

It seemed an eternity before he heard noise in the hallway outside. He didn't bother to move his gaze until the door swung inward and the old man entered, two familiar figures shuffling in behind him. He frowned at Brayden and followed his gaze, then heaved a fantastic sigh.

"I suppose I should have warned you not to touch that," he said, shaking his head as Karun and Rue walked in behind him. He moved over to the little shelf where the mirror still sat and began straightening out the knick-knacks around it. Brayden glared flatly at the back of his head which was currently blocking his view of the mirror.

"It would have been nice," he said dully. The old man offered him a dry smile.

"However I can't help but think if I'd said, 'Brayden, my good man, while you're snooping through my personal belongings, please make sure you give that little mirror in the corner a wide berth, or you may be in for a nasty shock,' you'd have been twice as compelled to touch it."

"Brayden are you all right?" Karun asked, looking the Sheikah up and down. "You look awful."

"Oh I'm just peachy," Brayden said, schooling the tremble out of his voice when he noticed Rue's piercing gaze on him. "Who wouldn't be after being caught in an avalanche, fed some god-awful old potion – not that I don't appreciate it, sir – and then looking in a mirror and seeing the one thing you prayed with all your heart you'd never see again?"

"What are you on about, Sheikah?" Rue demanded, frowning at him and cutting off Karun who had been about to profess his relief that Brayden was, at least, alive and they had found him. In answer, Brayden turned to look at the old man who had finally turned from his shelf and was watching them with a neutral expression on his face. He met Brayden's gaze evenly.

"You," Brayden said stiffly. "Are Sahasrahla. Though why you lied—"

"I never lied," the old man interrupted quickly. "I never said I wasn't. I said Sahasrahla was an old coot and asked you what you wanted from him. I didn't lie."

"But you are Sahasrahla?" Brayden demanded. Rue gave a soft snort from behind him.

"You can't feel it off of him?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at the old man. "Hermit. Bah. Mage is what this man is. He reeks of magic." The old man rolled his eyes in a very un-wisemanish gesture.

"Hadn't counted on her being a magic user," he said with a frown. "I generally don't admit to being who I am right off the bat when people come seeking me, not until I've found out what they want anyway, but this one decided she was having none of it and proceeded to threaten me with all sorts of nasty things if I didn't quit playing around and just be straight with her." He raises an eyebrow at me. "She's a Gerudo if I ever saw one, Brayden, so you can quit trying to hide that little tidbit from me. Relax," he added, shuffling over to the fireplace. "I've no issues with the desert folk. Or the mountain folk, or the city folk, or the water folk, or the forest folk while we're at it. You'll find no prejudice here. Hatred grows cold when you've lived as long as I have. Now," he pulled an enormous black kettle from beside the fireplace and lifted it with a benign smile, "who wants some tea?"

***

"Some temptations are best resisted, Neesha," Darunia said sagely, squeezing her shoulder and dragging her away from the object of her attention. She glared, but didn't take her eyes off the little pearl, glittering brightly on its scarlet pillow.

"What if it's—"

"Trapped?" Darunia asked. "Cursed? Deadly? Well, I'd imagine you'd have a very unpleasant experience."

"I was _going_ to say, what if it's important," Neesha responded in irritation. "Why would Agahnim put it in this blasted tower if he didn't want to keep it away from us?"

"To lure foolhardy teenagers into trying to steal it," Darunia responded easily, still firmly leading her away. Neesha made an irritated noise but allowed herself to be turned.

"I'll just steal it on the way out," she muttered to herself, then cast a paranoid look at Darunia to make sure he hadn't heard. He either hadn't, or was ignoring her, and either one suited Neesha just fine. She'd be damned if she'd let an opportunity like this go. A pretty bauble like that? Even if it wasn't important to Agahnim, it would be worth a pretty penny, that much was sure. And Solstice was coming up, and despite the fact that she had never even _heard_ of the holiday and its inane gift-giving tradition until her first winter with Link and Hunter three years ago, she didn't like the idea of them giving her presents – as she knew they would – without giving them something in return, no matter how many times they explained that she was missing the point. It was a very stressful time of year for her, as they were right, she really _didn't_ understand the point, but she understood that it was important to them that they celebrated it, and it was important to them that they included her in it, whether she wanted to be or not, and as much as _she_ hated the stupid holiday it did have a certain sort of charm, and there was a certain sort of niceness about the presents and Link and Hunter acting like the whole damn world was perfect and honest and innocent and it was amusing to watch if nothing else, but she never had any idea what to get them, or what was appropriate, but no matter what she decided, to do anything about it she needed rupees (seeing as _apparently_ the first rule of Solstice is that you can't just steal the present, it needs to be obtained legitimately, but they'd never said anything about stealing the _funds_ required to obtain the presents legitimately had they?) that pearl would put her one step closer – and if it happened to hurt Agahnim in some way, well all the better then, wasn't it?

And as though the goddess herself was listening to her train of thought and sympathizing with her annual solstice pain, an opportunity to get at the solution to a large part of her problems presented itself not more than an instant later. As she and Darunia rounded the corner, they came upon Acqul and Dune, who were once again arguing over something. Neesha wrinkled her nose and frowned at them.

Was that what she and Link looked like when they were fighting?

Darunia heaved a heavy, irritated sigh and released Neesha's shoulder to jog forward and find out what the problem was this time, muttering darkly to himself, and Neesha froze in the act of following him to cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder.

That pearl …

Solstice aside, there was something about it …

She glanced at where Dune and Acqul were both trying to talk over each other to explain to Darunia what the problem was, then grinned.

She'd be back before they knew she was gone.

And besides … Goody-Two-Shoes Link and his sidekick Captain Righteous weren't here to stop her, now were they? She might never get another chance like this.

She slipped back around the corner and prowled her way over to where the pearl sat. It was against the wall on a pedestal set into a floor that was independent of the rest of the room. Large, wide gaps surrounded the little patch of floor on all sides and when she leaned over Neesha could see the other floors they'd climbed through beneath them. She briefly wondered at the fact that Agahnim had built the towers this big and then filled them with nothing but a pearl, a medallion, and a great, ugly snake.

Then again … how much more of a guard do you need for something than a great, ugly snake?

Still, it bothered her. The fact that there were no guards – be they Hylian or Moblin – in the tower set her nerves on edge. It made very little sense. If the pendants were that important shouldn't it have been harder to get to them?

Unless of course the towers hadn't been designed to guard the pendants.

Which made its own sort of sense. Who built a whole empty tower for the sake of guarding one little pendant? What if putting the pendants in the towers had been mere convenience?

But then why build the towers at all?

She frowned and made a mental note to take the subject up with Hunter. She had the vague impression whatever it was it had to do with a level of conniving that she just wasn't capable of working at.

Hunter on the other hand …

She snorted as she dropped to her stomach to scan the platform for traps. She found it ironic that Hunter had the nerve to call her dishonest when all she ever did was steal things. There was nothing dishonest about that. It you couldn't properly defend your things, then you really didn't deserve to have them, did you? And yet Hunter – who could be two-faced and talk out of the side of his mouth and tell lies easier than he could tell the truth sometimes – had the _gall_ to call her dishonest?

She grinned a bit to herself when she spotted the odd little floor tile on the landing with the pedestal. It was raised _just_ a bit higher than the rest of the tiles. A pressure plate. She glanced at what was keeping the floor in the air. Two little L-shaped fixtures held it onto the wall. She could just barely make out the small hinges on their joint. Her grin widened. Simple, but effective. Someone would jump across to get at the pearl, hit the pressure plate, and the floor would drop right out from under them. She doubted the drop would kill a person, but if you weren't expecting it and landed wrong you could get seriously hurt. It was still a far ways down. She frowned and considered her options.

If the floor dropped like that, there had to be something holding the pearl to the pillow, otherwise the pearl would just fall with the thief. Likely whatever it was would prove to be another trap once broke, but Neesha couldn't see any other trip wires or pressure plates or obvious contraptions that looked designed to be painful. She'd likely have to get a closer look.

The shouting from down the corridor had quieted to a murmur. She was running out of time.

"Only one way to find out," she grunted, getting back to her feet. She took a few steps back to give herself a running start, then threw herself across the gap, careful to keep her feet wide of the pressure plate. The platform trembled a little under her landing but didn't give way. She nodded to herself and crept towards the pearl on the platform, tensed for action in case something should happen.

Nothing did.

She frowned down at the pearl, and was immediately forced to wonder if it really was a pearl at all. It resembled one, to be sure, but Neesha had seen a lot of jewels change hands in the fortress, and no shortage of them pearls. If it _was_ a pearl it was just about the most valuable one she'd ever seen. For starters it was huge for a pearl – at _least_ two centimetres diameter – but more than that it was … perfect. Perfectly round, perfectly white, it reflected a perfect reflection back at her. It almost seemed to glow with something that went a little bit beyond lustre.

_Magic_ , she decided instantly. _It's magic._ She'd spent enough time around Rue the last few years to understand that things of this level of perfection were often used for spells and other things, but though she thought that might be close to what it was for, she didn't quite think that was it either.

Abruptly she shrugged.

Whatever its purpose, she didn't intend to leave it there for Agahnim to make use of. She'd give it to Rue, or maybe Nabooru to figure out, and if it really was just a pearl then it would be hers to do what she would with it.

She bent over to study the pedestal it was seated on. She couldn't immediately see what was holding the pearl to the pillow – and as such suspected some kind of spell – but what she could see was a tiny little nozzle which blended almost, but not quite perfectly into the carvings around the pedestal. She grinned to herself. Gas of some kind then. Creative. Maybe it was deadly, maybe it would just knock her out, but she had a brief mental image of someone getting hit in the face with a cloud of gas and falling over onto the pressure plate that made her grin.

Shaking her head at the mental image she pulled her scarf up over her mouth and nose and held her breath for good measure before reaching out and snatching up the peal in one fluid motion. As expected there was a small click the instant she touched the pearl and green smoke billowed out of the pedestal and into her face. She snorted in contempt at it and turned to go, but movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

Thick, iron bars slid into place along the edge of the floor on the other side of the little landing she was standing on, trapping her on it. She gasped in surprise and then scowled, immediately searching the floor where she'd stepped to see if she'd missed something.

"It wasn't you," said a familiar voice from somewhere in front of her. Neesha's face hardened as she raised her head to glare flatly at the two young women separating themselves from the shadows.

"It was us," added the second.

"Bel," Neesha said flatly. "Mel. I was wondering if you two would show up." She cast a surreptitious look around. "Where's Thomas?"

"Gone to the other—oof!" Bel elbowed her sister in the stomach to stop her from finishing her statement but it was too late.

"Gone after Zelda again, has he?" Neesha said flatly, suddenly wishing fervently she had some way of warning the other team.

"Zelda's there?" Bel said in surprise and this time it was Mel's turn to elbow her in the stomach. Neesha raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter," Mel said flatly. "I'm really sorry about this, Neesha, but you're under arrest."

"I'm not at Castletown," Neesha responded flatly. "You have no authority here." She edged forward.

"Agahnim's Prince Regent of Hyrule," Mel answered dully. "And he's given us authority wherever we want it."

"Please don't fight us, Neesha."

"Just throw your weapons over here."

"Me?" Neesha demanded, glaring at them as she inched forward again. "A Gerudo? Throw my weapons to you? Two rogue Sheikah who haven't even got the honour to face me in actual battle?" The scorn in her voice was hard and sharp and acidic. She took another half-step forward. "Think again." And before they could react she reached out with a foot and pressed down on the pressure plate. The landing dropped out from under her and the last thing she saw before she fell out of sight was Bel and Mel's stunned, horrified expressions.

She landed like a cat and was off just as fast, bolting for the stairs back up.

If she was lucky she would get up them before Bel and Mel got their heads together and headed down them.

And if she wasn't then Bel and Mel were dead. It was as simple as that. They had declared their hostile intent. They had allied themselves with Agahnim, who was the enemy.

There was very little room for mercy in the Gerudo mentality.

Hunter and Link would forgive her in the end …

***

_Thomas stared in horror at the jagged pieces of wood and the curled pieces of wire on the floor._

_"No," he whimpered. "Oh no, oh no, oh no!" He could feel his face go ashen. "I'm dead. I'm so dead!" Bel and Mel gave simultaneous, sympathetic shakes of their head._

_"You're right," said Bel._

_"You're dead," agreed Mel. Thomas gave a little wail of dread and dropped to his knees, trying to pick up the pieces of what had once been a guitar._

_"Help me!" He gasped. "We have to fix it before he finds out!"_

_"Before who finds out what?" Asked a new voice from the doorway. Thomas gave a small shriek and whirled around, one piece of wood and one metal string in his hands._

_"H-Hunter!" He gasped. Bel and Mel stared at him with wide eyes then simultaneously shuffled a step or two away from Thomas. Hunter raised an eyebrow._

_"What? What is it? What did you …" His voice died off when he spotted what Thomas was clutching. Suddenly Thomas' face wasn't the only ashen one in the room. "Is that my … did you break …"_

_"I'm sorry …" Thomas managed through a dry, painful throat. "Hunter, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry … it was an accident … we … we were just … just roughhousing and … and I fell and … I …" He trailed off and watched Hunter's face. It's color shifted from grey, to red, to a sick sort of green, to a deep shade of purple, and right back to grey again._ This is it _, Thomas thought to himself._ He's going to kill me now. And I can't say I blame him. I just smashed his favourite thing in the whole wide world into a million pieces and now he's going to do the same to me, and I deserve it. I'm just going to sit here and take it. Take it like a man. _But the truth of the matter was Thomas was not a man. He was an eleven-year-old boy who did_ not _want to die, especially because he had the vague impression that even if Hunter_ did _kill him, it was still_ he _who would get yelled at by his mother and she would just ground his corpse. Nobody would blame Hunter. Nobody blamed Hunter for anything any more, not since Bruiser had left. All the adults seemed to feel sorry for him, and on some level, Thomas supposed he did too. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if his mother moved away to take care of some other boy who wasn't him. But another part of him thought they were all being foolish. At least Hunter still_ had _a Dad, and it wasn't like he didn't get to see him. Thomas had never known his father – killed by a Gerudo in the war – and nobody saw fit to not blame him for everything. Everything was always his fault, whether or not he'd actually done it. How many times had Bel and Mel framed him for things? How many times had Ketari blackmailed him into taking the blame for things she'd done? How man times had Hunter blamed him for … for …_

_He paused._

_Hunter hadn't ever blamed him for anything._

_He wracked his brain, trying to find an example, anything to let him continue feeling sorry for himself. Sometimes if he managed to look suitably sorry for himself, other people would feel sorry for him too and let things go. But there was nothing. Hunter never blamed him for anything._

_Instead what sprang to mind was several times Hunter had taken the blame for things_ Thomas _had done. Even now, in Hunter's face, Thomas could read the instant forgiveness._

_He suddenly wanted to spare Hunter the trouble and just kill himself._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered again, holding out the wood and string as though that could somehow make it better._

_"My Mom's guitar," Hunter said thickly, all the rage bleeding out of his body as he took the proffered pieces from Thomas. He cast a heart-broken look down at the rest of the mess and suddenly looked very close to tears. "Dad … he gave it to me when he left. He … he said … said it was special. Special to her … special to him … he told me to practice … so I could play it like she could. How … how am I supposed to practice … how am I supposed to tell him …"_

_"I'll fix it," Thomas swore, desperate to make it better. "I'll get it fixed. I'll … I've got fifteen rupees saved up."_

_"I've got ten!" Bel chimed in._

_"Me too!" Mel added. "You can have that. That's thirty-five!"_

_"But … but it's smashed …" His voice was thick with tears he wasn't willing to shed. Thomas knew Bruiser had told him not to cry. Bruiser had told him to be tough. He felt a painful surge of sympathy for the other boy and suddenly understood why maybe everybody felt sorry for Hunter._

_"Ketari will know what to do," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "Ketari can fix anything …"_

"Hunter …." Thomas struggled with the memory for a moment. Struggled with that tiny part of him that remembered those things with such clarity. The tiny part of him that assaulted him with these thoughts and these feelings and these images whenever it could. The tiny part of him that Agahnim's tainted magic could not touch.

At his feet lay the source of the memories this time. Limp, unconscious, maybe dead. Thomas didn't know. Didn't really care beyond the fact that he needed him alive, though that tiny part of him did. That tiny part of him railed and screamed and wept at the sight – at the sight and at the thought of what would happen to its old friend once Thomas handed him over to the Wizard. It knew. It had seen what had happened to the others. It had railed and screamed and wept for them as well.

Thomas didn't care, though. Didn't care about the others. Didn't care about what the Wizard had done with them. Didn't care what he would do with Hunter.

And yet …

He couldn't help himself …

"Did you fix it?" He asked, peering down at the dark-haired youth at his feet, but addressing that tiny part of himself that he no longer recognized as himself. Or even as a part of himself. It was a separate entity. To be humoured if he was in the mood, but otherwise ignored. "Did you fix his guitar?"

_Why do you care?_ The little voice demanded sullenly. _Why don't you just kill him now. You've already killed his father._ Thomas waited. There was no point in answering these jibes. _He's going to kill you, you know. You don't know Hunter like I do. He'll never forgive you for it. Never. If he gets the chance he'll put a knife in your ribs before you can blink, and when the time comes I'll help him. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you die, because you deserve it._ He waited for the inevitable conclusion to this rant. He always did. _And so do I for letting this happen._

"He forgave you for the guitar," Thomas pointed out. "Why is this different?"

_That was a guitar!_ The little voice shrieked. _It was bits of wood and metal and wire! It was a_ symbol _of his parent's love. Just a symbol! You didn't take a symbol from him. You took his father._

"Did you fix it? Did Katori—"

_Ketari,_ the voice snapped. _And don't you ever,_ ever _mention her name again. You're not good enough to talk about her, you understand me?_

"Fine," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "Was she able to fix it or not?" There was a stubborn pause and for half an instant Thomas didn't think he'd ever get an answer. Then:

_No. It was smashed too badly. There was no fixing it._ For some reason Thomas was disappointed. Some unspoken something tickled at the back of his consciousness. This was important for some reason.

"Really?" He asked. "You couldn't fix it? He must have been upset …"

_He was,_ the voice answered, some of the heat going out of his voice at the memory. _He cried over it finally. Right there in the store, too. Hunter doesn't cry. Not like that. That's the only time I've ever seen him do it._ Thomas dropped into a crouch and stared at Hunter's face, relaxed in unconsciousness. The tickling got worse.

"He doesn't look that tough," he commented. "He doesn't look like that kind of person."

_He's unconscious, moron,_ the little voice said caustically. _Nobody looks tough when they're unconscious._ Thomas was so engrossed in trying to identify what the tickling had to do with Hunter that he failed to notice the barest flicker of movement from the other side of the body. Thomas didn't notice, but the voice did. _Don't think he's tough, eh?_ It said smugly. _Well strap yourself in, because you're just about to find out how tough he can be._

"What?" Thomas demanded in irritation, but before he was even done forming the word Hunter's eyes snapped open and he twisted violently, slamming a small knife into Thomas' thigh. Thomas cried out at the unexpected attack and fell backwards, his wounded leg giving out. Hunter wasted no time, scrambling to his feet and throwing himself bodily on top of Thomas. He pulled his fist back and slammed it into Thomas' face. Thomas snarled and caught his fist before it could slam into him another time.

"That," he hissed, narrowing his eyes, "was a mistake." Hunter's face was a mask of fury and hatred.

"I don't make mistakes," he hissed back, raising his other fist. Thomas was vaguely aware of a thud from somewhere behind them , immediately followed by a blue flash.

"Hunter!"

"Over here! It's Thomas!" Hunter called, driving his fist downwards. Thomas raised his free arm to block and moved to grab Hunter's free hand as well, but before he could he heard the oddest sound.

Someone was playing the Ocarina …

***

##  **Chapter 7 (cont.)**

_Time rearranges itself into a linear fashion with it's all-too-familiar sickening lurch and I stumble back into its flow. Tatl is flying in a slow, dizzy circle and looking like she's going to be sick. I feel a vague sort of smugness. Navi was never sick after travelling through Time …_

_I blink slowly a few times and stare around at my surroundings. I'm back in the basement of the clock tower. I raise my hand to my face and feel the near-wooden snout still sticking off my face and have to fight back a wail of disappointment._

_After all that … I'm still a deku scrub._

_A deku scrub._

_It's suddenly very hard not to give in to the childish urge to drop to the ground and cry my eyes out. I've never been this frustrated in my life._

_No wait, that's a lie. The Water Temple was more frustrating than this. The day I find something_ more _frustrating than that damn temple is the day I kill myself because life just isn't worth living any more._

_But this is almost as bad, and in an entirely different, sprit-crushing, resolve-breaking, heart-rending sort of way._

_I've got my Ocarina back, but I still don't have Epona,_ or _Navi._

_I'm trapped on another plane of existence, with a fairy who isn't my partner and who hates my guts and is likely just_ waiting _for the opportunity to turn me over to her jackass skullkid friend, in a body that isn't mine, or even remotely mine, or even my_ species, _not to mention I'm a bloody kid again. Trapped in the state of an eleven-year old. Somewhere out there, in the real Hyrule, I'm living out the worst year of my life._

_Though this one is starting to run a close second for worst year ever._

_I lost Navi on a routine trip back in time, I have no idea where she is and all my attempts to find her have come to nothing._

_I've lost Epona to a crazy skullkid who's probably ridden her to death by now – she's just a_ foal _for Nayru's sake!_

_I almost lost the Ocarina of Time, which I don't even really want to think about._

_And I've once again crammed my not-quite-twenty-year-old mind into an eleven-year-old body that was subsequently turned into a deku scrub._

_And I get the feeling this adventure is just getting started._

_At least that crazy mask-guy isn't—_

_Crazy mask-guy's frozen smile inserts itself into my view._

_"Well hello there!" He says brightly, paying no attention when I scream and stumble back, tripping over myself and falling to the ground, little deku heart beating a frantic tattoo in my chest._

_"Farore!" I gasp, clutching my chest and falling limply onto the ground. "Don't do that. For Nayru's sake, don't do that!" Tatl laughs above me and I glare murderously at her. Do deku scrubs even_ have _expressions? Can she even tell I'm glaring?_

_I grab a nearby piece of debris and throw it at her, just to be sure. She dodges easily and glares down at me with a pronounced "Hmph!"_

_"Ooo!" Says the Mask-guy. "The Ocarina of Time!" My brain immediately returns to the important issues at hand when I realize two things._

_One, the Ocarina is not in my hand. I dropped it when the mask-guy scared the living daylights out of me._

_Two, the mask-guy is reaching down to pick it up._

_"No!" I shout, scrambling forward and snatching it back before he can touch it, clutching it again my chest and scrambling backwards. I glare at him. "Don't touch!" For a brief instant something terrible flickers behind the mask-guy's eyes but it's gone the next instant as he straightens._

_I don't like him._

_I don't like him one bit._

_That frozen smile doesn't go all the way to his eyes, and that's never a good sign._

_I clutch the Ocarina possessively and back up a few steps, keeping space between me and he._

_"Well," he says jovially, "I can see you don't trust me with that, and a good thing too. I can't say I blame you, that is certainly a precious little item. Powerful magic exists in that Ocarina, powerful magic indeed." His smile stretches grotesquely. "Powerful enough, even, to reverse what that wretched little skullkid did to you, I think, if you knew the right notes." My breath catches in my throat._

_"What?" I demand. "What are you saying?" The mask-guy continues to smile at me._

_"I know a song," he says, "powerful magic in its own right. It's called the Song of Healing, and played on an instrument like that there's no telling what it could be capable of …"_

Please let this work.

The notes slide silkily from the Ocarina – eerie, and haunting, and beautiful.

I've seen this song do so much …

I don't even need to think about the notes. My fingers know them off by heart.

Mikau, so much like Acqul. Not so much in the physical sense (Acqul would have a heart attack if I even _suggested_ he get tattoos), but in other ways. The lovesick way he felt around Lulu was identical to the way Acqul acts around Ruto. The quiet faith he offered when I'd put on his mask. The inherent trust … this song let him die peacefully.

Thomas gives a startled shriek beneath Hunter, but I continue playing mercilessly.

Darmani, all Karun's seriousness and warmth. Fatherly, responsible, willing to sacrifice himself for his people if he was called upon to do so, and he was. This song gave him rest when nothing else could.

"It's working," Nabooru breathes in astonishment beside me as we run towards Hunter and Thomas. "I can feel it working …"

Even the little Deku Scrub, who's story I don't even know … this song gave it rest as well. Gave it the power to help me, and I know it wanted to, whoever it was.

Please … _please_ … it could do all that … _please_ let it do this too …

Thomas cries out again, but Hunter's pinned him to the ground and won't let him go.

My song ends, the last few notes fade out. Nabooru, Zelda and I slow our approach.

There's a long, painful pause, before Thomas breathes out heavily.

"Hunter …" He shakes his head slowly as we approach. "What … what happened … how am I … where did he … no … NO! Hunter get back! Get off!" Nabooru, Zelda and I exchange a startled look and start forward again, speeding back up at his shout, but before we can even understand what's going on, we're too late. Blackness erupts from the floor under them. Thomas' eyes go wide. "No!" He shouts again, trying to shove Hunter off him. "Hunter! Go! Run! He's after _you_!" Hunter's eyes widen and I can see him starting up to throw himself backwards, but it's no good. The shadows around them swirl up and over them both.

"NO!" I shout, lunging for them, but all I manage to touch is the floor where they had been. I stare at the spot in disbelief. "Damn!" I shout, punching the floor and lurching to my feet, whirling around to meet Zelda's horrified expression and Nabooru's grim one.

"We have to find them!" I say.

"They're not here," Nabooru says, her eyes distant.

"What do you mean they're not here?" I demand. Nabooru frowns darkly at me, her eyes refocusing.

"I mean they're not here. There's not a single living thing in this tower except us."

Right. Sage of Spirit.

"Then where—"

"Castletown," Zelda says grimly. "Where else?"

"Fine," I say, furiously, "then I'll just—" But before I can even finish my sentence Nabooru has deftly snatched the Ocarina from my grasp and retreated behind Zelda.

"Link, I know you don't want to hear this," she says, keeping herself firmly out of my grasp, "but it's likely already too late for Hunter."

"That's bull—"

"Link, _listen_ to me!" Nabooru snarls. "When Saria was taken we reacted instantly, do you understand me? _Instantly_! Impa and I were both _at_ the castle when we felt her presence jump from the Lost Woods to there, and even the two of us weren't fast enough to save her! Within a few moments of arriving, her presence was gone." She snaps her fingers to demonstrate. "Just gone. As if she'd never existed." I stare at her shaking my head. She's telling the truth, but I don't want to believe it. "Link, all you'll do, if you go running back there now, is get yourself caught, do you understand me? Caught, and likely killed, and then where will Hunter be? Where will Thomas be? Where will the rest of us be?" Her expression is hard and cold and Gerudo. "Our best shot at stopping Agahnim and rescuing everyone, Hunter and Thomas included, is the Master Sword. We can't use the Master Sword without you, and you can't get _it_ without the pendants. So calm down and let's do what we came here to do."

"Calm down?" I demand. "Calm down?"

"He's not calming down," Zelda notes, though she doesn't look all that calm herself.

I hold out a hand to Nabooru, trembling with rage.

"Give me the Ocarina," I say flatly. She frowns darkly, but it's not a request, and she has no choice. She places the flute in my hands. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to put it back into my pouch and not immediately play the Prelude to Light. I ignore the flicker of relief in Nabooru's eyes. "Understand this," I say, voice low and harsh. "Agahnim is marked with the black." Nabooru blinks in surprise, taken aback as she always is when I take part in or ask about some Gerudo tradition she wasn't aware I knew about. "For me, you understand? Make sure the whole damn fortress knows it." She nods slowly, then bows quickly.

"Done," she says. "Agahnim, Prince Regent of Hyrule is the King's Black Mark. None shall touch him save you."

The Gerudo Mark can be used for a variety of different things. It's not an actual, physical mark, but it's ten times as potent. When something is marked by a Gerudo it becomes theirs, in what way depends on what color. There are any number of colors for any number of things, but the two most popular are yellow, for a lover a Gerudo doesn't want to share with her sisters, or black, for an enemy a Gerudo doesn't want to share with her (or his in my case) sisters. Now that Agahnim has been marked black, and the mark has been acknowledged, I am the only Gerudo with the right to kill him.

If I get nothing else out of this goddess-forsaken situation, I'll have that much at least.

"Let's go."

However, yet again the Goddesses prove how much they truly, truly love me. As though my words were a silent cue there is a harsh, grating sound of stone on stone immediately followed by a deafening crash. I whirl around on my heel and all three of us stare in shock at the massive Armos statue, glaring balefully down at us, trembling with the mockery of life in its glowing eyes.

So _that's_ what fell through the roof …

"Um…" Zelda says hesitantly, "guys …" There's a flash and she's transformed into Sheik. Never a good sign on the best of days, and today is definitely not the best of days. I raise my head to follow where he's pointing. All along the walls of the room we're in, are duplicates of the Armos statue in front of us that's already preparing to leap again.

And all of their eyes are starting to glow.

It's touching sometimes, how much the Goddesses care for me.

Nayru, Farore and Din … if you girls can hear me … the feeling's mutual.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"… so that's pretty much the current state of things," Brayden said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall and pulling one leg up onto the cot with him. "We've got four missing kids – one of them a Sage – one dark wizard who fancies himself sitting on the throne of Hyrule, an indisposed Master Sword, and not a clue between us." Sahasrahla's face is grim.

"Things … have progressed further than I thought," he said, passing a hand over his eyes for a moment and going silent. Brayden watched him.

"I've been all over Hyrule, scouring it for mages and magic-users of every walk of life. Anyone with any kind of knowledge in the arcane arts," he said slowly. "They weren't able to tell me much. They said there were all sorts of reasons why a black-magician might want children, though why those specific children was beyond them, or that maybe it had something to do with nobility and/or the Sages, but then Malon was kidnapped and has disappeared as well and she is neither a child, nor is she a noble or a Sage." Brayden's face was a grim. "She's a farm girl. A farm girl of tremendous personal importance to a lot of people, but nothing more than that."

"Malon, daughter of Talon and Reeda, is more than just a farm girl," Sahasrahla said with a sigh, "though few know it and it is generally preferred this way for reasons that will soon become apparent. How Agahnim found out, I have no idea."

"Found out what?" Rue demanded impatiently, but Sahasrahla paid her no attention.

"You all know, I'm assuming, the story of the Great War?"

"We've all fought in it," Karun returned dully. "We were all a part of it. Yes, I'd say we know it."

"Then you all know that during that war is when Ganondorf finally gained access to the Sacred Realm and the Triforce."

"He gained access, touched the Triforce, it rejected him as its master and left him with only the third that most represented him. The other two pieces found carriers which best represented them. Link and Princess Zelda," Brayden supplied.

"He made the Dark World with it," Rue added, biting her lower lip in a rare display of emotion, slight though it was. Her gaze was far off and troubled. "I remember the day he brought Moblins to the fortress …"

For a brief, uncomfortable moment, Brayden, Karun and Rue were all reminded that they had been bitter enemies during that struggle.

"Some things," Sahasrahla said, refilling Rue's tea cup and pushing it back at her, "are best not dwelt on."

"But Ganondorf didn't make the Dark World," Brayden said with a small frown, bringing everyone's minds back to the subject at hand. "Not really." He looked at the other two. "You know the whole story about the Goddesses, right? They created Hyrule and then left to do whatever it is that Goddesses do, but when they left they left behind the Triforce." Rue and Karun both nodded. "Well, it's generally believed that the Triforce is actually a remnant of the Goddess' powers, which is why so many people want it. If you managed to get all three pieces, you'd be unstoppable. As good as a God, or Goddess," he added with a nod at Rue.

"What does this have to do with the Dark World?" Rue demanded.

"Well, the Triforce rests in the Sacred Realm," Brayden said, animated suddenly as he lost himself in the myths and legends. "Or it did at one point, until Ganondorf touched it. It judged him and found him wanting, so it's defence mechanism kicked in and it broke itself up. Ganondorf kept the piece that best represented what was dominant in his heart, and the other two found carriers who represented them as best as possible."

"Old news, friend," Karun said wryly. "We've all seen the marks on Link and Zelda's hands."

"True enough," Sahasrahla answered, and they all turned to him with a blink. "But that's not all the Triforce did." He paused for a brief moment, then continued. "The Triforce has no concept of reward or punishment. It doesn't care about mercy or justice. What it _does_ care about is cause and effect, because in essence, that's what creation is. Causes and effects. And it is _,_ essentially, distilled creation in physical form. When Ganondorf touched the Triforce, it did what it was made to do, and changed the Sacred Realm – warped it into the Dark World."

"Why?" Rue demanded.

"Because whoever controls the Triforce, controls the Sacred Realm. The Sacred Realm is merely a reflection of its master. Or of it's master's heart, if you prefer. When Ganondorf touched it, it was intact, and for the briefest of instants he _was_ its master, so it reacted accordingly. The Sacred Realm is a manifestation of the Triforce's power, and since Ganondorf touched the Triforce first, it became a manifestation of Ganondorf." Karun frowned.

"Couldn't the Sages have done something?" He asked. "Isn't the Sacred Realm kind of their home territory?" Sahasrahla shook his head.

"The Sages weren't awakened," he answers. "Only Rauru was aware of what was going on. He did what he could, but without the other six sages, it wasn't much. He managed to preserve a tiny little corner of the Sacred Realm and hold it against Ganondorf's onslaught, but that was all, and it ultimately cost him his physical form. He's as trapped in the Sacred Realm, as Ganondorf is in the Dark World."

"You will forgive me," Rue said quietly, none of her usual irritation in her voice, but instead a vague kind of apprehension, "if the fact that we are discussing Ganondorf, who is trapped in the Dark World with no hope of escape when in fact our problems lie with Agahnim, who is very much in this world and has, to the best of our knowledge, nothing to do with either Ganondorf or the Dark World is a touch disturbing. If this is merely a topic of interest for you, old man, I suggest we speak of what's really important. Otherwise, I suggest you make your meaning clear and you do it quickly. We haven't the time for sophistry or for beating around the bush."

"Gerudo rarely do," Sahasrahla remarked wryly, then sighed. "The fact of the matter is, I suspect – though suspect is perhaps not strong enough – that the kidnappings have everything to do with the Dark World – and therefore with Ganondorf – due to the nature of the people being kidnapped. What I am proposing is that Agahnim is Ganondorf's agent. He is not acting on his own. He never has been."

"Go on," Brayden prompted, a lead feeling in his gut suddenly.

Would they never be free of that monster?

"Well," Sahasrahla says slowly, "it's safe to assume that Ganondorf's ultimate goal is the domination and/or destruction of Hyrule, correct? But in order to do that he'll need a considerable army, and what better place to get one, than the Dark World?" Karun frowned.

"But he can't. You can't really travel between the Dark World and this one. Not any more."

"There are … ways," Sahasrahla answered evasively. "But there are certain, strict conditions that must be met, and Ganondorf doesn't meet any of them. But … as you've pointed out, whether you meant to or not, these conditions are a recent addition."

"Come again?" Rue said.

"Once all the Sages had been awakened, they used their powers to, in essence, cut the Dark World off from our own. Ganondorf _used_ to be able to travel back and forth freely between the two, and so could other people if you knew where to go." He shook his head. "I think every race in Hyrule has lost more than a few of its best and brightest to the quest for the Triforce."

"If Ganondorf could bring things back from the Dark World, why didn't he?" Brayden asked. Rue rubbed her head tiredly.

"Where do you think Moblins come from?" She demanded. "They were a gift from the Triforce of Power to Ganondorf when he touched the Triforce. An army of monsters."

"Granted," Sahasrahla adds, "the Moblins we know today are less dangerous than those of the Great War. I'm sure you can all attest to that." There was a general shudder around the room in agreement. "They're descendants of actual Dark World Moblins. They haven't got a long lifespan, and inbreeding and other issues have dulled much of their previous power. When the Sages closed the portals to the Dark World, some of the Moblins were trapped here and we've been cursed with them ever since."

"This still doesn't explain why he wants the descendants of the Sages," Rue pointed out, unwilling to let the conversation get off track again.

"Use your head, Rue," Sahasrahla said chidingly. "You of all people should know how important blood and bloodlines are when it comes to magic. If the Sages closed the portals …"

"Then Ganondorf can use the Sages' blood to open them," Rue finishes grimly. "But it can't be that simple. The Sages' magic isn't exactly a simple thing to unravel, now is it? And their relatives might have their blood, but it doesn't mean they have their power." Her mind was moving quickly, running down the possibilities in her head. "Wouldn't he need the Sages themselves?" But Sahasrahla was shaking his head.

"There's absolutely nothing Ganondorf can do with the Sages to unlock the portals," he said. "They'd have to do it willingly, and we all know that that's not happening. In this case they're actually too strong for Ganondorf's purposes. Their will is too strong for him to use their power properly. _However,_ there is a certain type of power in purity, especially in a place as corrupted as the Dark World." Rue was nodding thoughtfully.

"Maidens," she murmurs. "I suppose with the right spells …," she shook her head then turned to Brayden and Karun to explain. "A large number of black spells require the use of maidens in one way or another," she said. "Whether it's their blood, a piece of them, or a whole maiden varies from spell to spell."

"That's sick," Karun said darkly.

"That's black magic," Rue answered simply.

"But Link isn't a girl," Brayden said, frowning. "Goron Link, that is. At least, I don't think so. So wouldn't that …"

"The word is older than the definition you are using," Sahasrahla answers him. "With regards to magic, 'maiden' means virgin, not girl. A male could be a maiden as easily as a female." Rue's expression was annoyed.

"It is folly to associate virginity with purity," she scoffs. Everyone in the room rolled their eyes. Virginity had a much different meaning for the Gerudo than for most other races. In a race comprised entirely of women it had to or procreation would become complicated.

"The definitions of purity are old as well," Sahasrahla said consolingly, "nor is virginity the only type. That would be sexual purity, obviously, and one of the most potent types. But you might also be pure if you've never killed someone. Or you might be considered pure if you've devoted yourself to the Goddesses. That type of thing. It all depends on what you mean and what spell you're using."

"So basically," Karun sums up, "Agahnim is working for Ganondorf and he is planning on using the people he's kidnapped, all of whom are related to the sages to open the portals to the Dark World, thereby freeing Ganondorf and unleashing a Dark World army on the world again?"

"Precisely," Sahasrahla agrees. "Or at least, this is what I suspect."

"Great," Brayden said, "except that Malon is not related to a Sage, now is she?"

"Ah," Sahasrahla said. "Well that's the thing, isn't it?" He paused for a moment. "What would you say," Sahasrahla said slowly, "if I told you that the Great War you all fought in was not the first … not even close to the first? Or that this isn't the first time Sages and a Hero have been called upon to protect Hyrule?"

"I'd say any Sheikah over the age of ten knows that," Brayden replied.

"And if I told you that long ago, far enough that I have since lost track of the years and decades and perhaps even centuries, when the first Sages were awakened, and the first Hero, my brother was among their ranks?" He raised an eyebrow at them. "It's a story you all know well, having lived it yourself at one time or another, though perhaps with happier endings. A great evil had arisen, and the Hero, my brother, and the other Sages did what they could to keep the evil at bay. In the end, they succeeded, but at great cost. So many dead, the Hero destroyed, and half of the Sages dead with him. My brother was one of the survivors, as was I, but we came away from the ordeal with very different outlooks. We both had families when the war started, wives and children. My own child … my son …," his voice trailed off and he looked at Brayden with pain and grief and understanding. "Let's just say," he said, his voice hollow with old grief, "that I know what it is, to be the father of the Hero." Brayden blinked in surprise, then slowly nodded.

"I … am sorry for your loss," he said thickly. He could imagine what it had been like. What it must still be like. He was terrified of losing Link to the same duty …

"At any rate," Sahasrahla continued, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself, "by the time the war was over, all we had left between us was his daughter. Both our wives were dead, and my son as well. I retreated to the mountains, overwhelmed by grief at my losses, and jealousy that his child had survived where mine had not, and I lost myself in my arts." He shook his head. "The reason I am still alive today. My brother went on to do what he could for Hyrule. His daughter moved on and had a family of her own." He trailed off, lost for a moment in memory. When he finally spoke again, it was with a different tone, brisker, more businesslike. "That family line lives today, as do I, as does my brother, though he and I are the only remnants of that time now."

"Your brother," Brayden said, "is Rauru." It wasn't a question.

"Correct," Sahasrahla agreed. Rue made an irritated noise.

"And this has what to do with the Hylian girl?" She demanded. Sahasrahla grinned suddenly, mischievously.

"What if I was to tell you that back before age finally caught us unawares, both Rauru and myself had hair as red as yours when you were sixteen?" He asked her.

"Malon is descended from Rauru's line," Brayden said, eyes growing wide suddenly. "Of _course_! That's why he needed her!" The gears started to shift in his head. "But if that's the case, then there's still hope. Hope and time. He won't have killed them. He can't have killed them. Not if he needs all seven."

"He won't kill them," Sahasrahla said. "He'll need them alive for the portals to work. For the seals to be suspended. They're no use to him dead."

"But don't you see, this is perfect!" Brayden gasped, getting to his feet and starting to pace. "He's still short three! He's got four, there are seven Sages. He's still missing someone related to Nabooru, Impa and Zelda." He paused for a moment. "Except that Zelda probably falls into the maiden category, like Saria does. I don't think she and Link … so he could just take her. And he's tried it once already." His mind was spinning with the possibilities this presented. "If he hasn't killed them, we can still get them back. All we need to do is find the other two, Nabooru and Impa's descendants … or more than two if there's more than that that fall under the maiden category. We find them, we hide them, and that buys us the time we need to get the other four back." He paused again. "Except that Impa's never had children and the Gerudo don't keep track of whose children are whose." He slumped, defeated by the unexpected road block.

"But that's perfect, isn't it?" Karun asked. "If Nabooru's had children but nobody knows who they are, then Agahnim can't really take them. And if Impa's never had children then he's thwarted right there. She _has_ no descendants for him to use. Unless, of course, she's a virgin herself." Brayden cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Ah …," he said, "she's not. She had a lover once, a long time ago, but …."

"The Great War?" Rue asked. Brayden shook his head.

"The hunt for the Triforce," he answered instead. "He left to find it and never came back. Listen, this is a very personal subject. Not many people know about it, and she'll likely kill me anyway for even mentioning it …"

"We won't breathe a word, Brayden," Karun said. "And she would understand the necessity." Rue nodded. Sahasrahla sighed.

"I would like," he said, "to be able to say that that's an end to it, but unfortunately, I cannot." Brayden blinked and turned to him.

"But … Impa _has_ no descendants and can't herself—"

"The … magic involved does not require direct descendants of the Sages," Sahasrahla said. "Understand that the Sages themselves are descended from the Sages prior to them, and the Sages prior to them, all the way back to the first Sages. Anyone in that line will do, though the closer in relation to the current Sages, who are, after all, the ones who put the seals on the Dark World, the more effective they will be." Rue cleared her throat and all eyes turned to her.

"You give us very little credit," she said quietly, "when it comes to our children. We pay little attention to blood ties, it is true, but … we keep aware of who is related to who in order to prevent inbreeding and other problems that could arise from a complete obliviousness of blood lines. And … Ganondorf suspected that Nabooru was a Sage. He knew who all of her children were, and if he knows, it's a safe bet that Agahnim does as well." There was a long pause as everyone considered the implications of that.

"All right, then," Karun said finally, "the original plan is still good. We just find all the people who Agahnim could use and keep them away from him." He looked at Brayden. "Can you think of anyone who would—" But Brayden was way ahead of him.

"Hunter," he breathed. He leaned his head back against the wall with an expression of utmost frustration. "It's Hunter. He's the only one close enough to her to matter and whose still a virgin, though I suppose there's no guarantee of that." He looked as though guarantee or not it may as well have been a sure thing.

"His girlfriend was taken as a maiden," Karun said heavily, looking troubled. "It would suggest strongly that he is as well. Has he had any other girls?" Brayden shrugged helplessly.

"Wasn't around when he was growing up," he said with a sigh. "Sorry. Can't help you there. At any rate, I'm guessing the answer is no."

"But wouldn't that make Link related to Impa as well?" Rue asked. Brayden shook his head.

"Hunter's Impa's great-nephew. Her sister was his grandmother on his mother's side. Link would be related through marriage, but not through blood, and it's the blood that matters in this case." Rue made a face.

"How the Hell do you keep all that straight?" She demanded. "The Gerudo system is much better."

"Only because it isn't a _system_ ," Brayden returned with a frown. "And is in fact a lack thereof."

"What about Nabooru?" Sahasrahla cut in before the fight could degenerate from there. "Has the Sage of Spirit any offspring?" Rue frowned thoughtfully and paused to think.

"She has given birth to two children," she answered. "Some women have more, but being pregnant never really sat well with Nabooru."

"Do you know if they could be considered maidens?" Karun asked and Rue nodded.

"I do," she replied, "and only one of them could. The other has already had a child herself and is currently working on a second. The one I am thinking of, though … she's of the age to have lost that, but given her … situation I doubt she's had the chance."

"Are you going to tell us who she is or not?" Brayden demanded. Rue gave a wry, humourless laugh.

"I doubt you'll believe me," she answered, but several things had already clicked in Brayden's head.

"Farore," he breathed. "You've got to be kidding me, Rue."

"I am not," she replied evenly.

And as much as he wanted to deny it, now that he thought about it, it made a certain sort of sense and he was floored he'd never noticed it before. The eyes, the smug expression she had, the rebellious streak … Karun had apparently come to some conclusions of his own as well for he was swearing under his breath.

"Well," said Sahasrahla, "I'm glad you've all realized who it is, but would you mind filling an old man in? Some of us have lived in a mountain for most of their lives and aren't really up to date on the family relations of Gerudo."

"It's Neesha," Brayden answered. "Neesha and Hunter are Link's best friends."

"And the Princess Zelda is his lover," Rue added, then frowned. "Though if she's been targeted as a maiden as well, then perhaps lover is too strong a word." Her frown was flat and unimpressed and carried the distinct promise of a chat that was likely going to make Link terribly red and terribly uncomfortable. Sahasrahla, however, looked unsurprised at the news that the Hero of Time's best friends were targets.

"The destinies of those who call the Hero friend are often irrevocably tangled in his own," he mused softly to himself. "Such is the way of things." He shook his head. "It is of little enough import whether he loves or hates them," he said at last. "What matters is that we know of who they are and can hide them from Agahnim." Brayden cleared his throat and exchanged a chagrined glance with Rue and Karun. Sahasrahla raised an eyebrow at them and Brayden rubbed his head tiredly.

"It would seem," he said with a tired frown, "as though was have sent Agahnim exactly what he needs all wrapped up in a neat little package …"

"You don't think they'll … I mean, they've got Sages with them," Karun said. "And they're very capable youths. We don't give them nearly enough credit."

"I think," Sahasrahla said, understanding enough of the conversation to be able to jump to his own conclusions, "that if you have chosen a headquarters for yourselves you had best be getting back there. And I think, perhaps, that I should be going with you." He shook his head with a dark expression. "Though we can't go anywhere until the storm lets up, unfortunately."

"What do we do in the meantime?" Karun asked.

"We pray."

***

He had expected a lurch, really. At least insofar as he had had any time to expect anything. But there wasn't even a tug. There was no sense of movement at all, just a vague kind of impression that although you had been _here_ , you were now _there_ and that was all there was to it. And then the blackness dropped away and the vague impression was confirmed. He was indeed _there_. Wherever _there_ was.

"I'm sorry," Thomas whispered. "I tried … you wouldn't _listen_ …"

"After everything you've done," Hunter hissed back at him, finally managing to disentangle himself from the other youth and throw himself backwards and away from him, "why should I listen to a _thing_ that comes out of your mouth?" The nightmare image of an arrow slicing through his father's chest danced within his mind. He struggled with the sudden over-powering urge to rip out Thomas' throat with his teeth.

_It wasn't Thomas. It wasn't Thomas. It wasn't Thomas._ Thomas seemed to shrink under his gaze, all the cruel superiority that had stained every line of his body the night Bruiser died reduced to nothing. _Farore Thomas,_ please _tell me it wasn't you … prove Link right …_ please _… I'll kill you if he's wrong …._

"It wasn't him," said a dry, raspy voice from behind him. It was deep, but hollow, and just the sound of it was enough to make Hunter's mouth go dry and his blood run cold.

"Agahnim," he forced himself to snarl it in order to stem the tide of defeated thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him. He turned around slowly and tried not to choke on the sickening power radiating off the man. How he'd never felt it before he didn't know. The wizard stood before him, his frame huddled beneath thick, voluminous robes that were of no style familiar to Hyrule. They hid his actual size and build, but the could not hide the way he leaned on the gnarled staff in his hands. He was old. Old and ravaged by time and the force of the arts he'd surrendered himself to. But he was not weak. Not by a long shot. Hunter wanted to quail but clenched his jaw and refused to let himself show it. His father wouldn't have shown it, and wouldn't have wanted him to show it. "Link was right," he managed, drawing himself up to glare flatly at the mage. "You _are_ a snake." Agahnim gestured and Hunter heard a sound behind him. He reacted instantly, jumping to the side just in time to avoid Thomas's attempt to grab him and narrowed his eyes. The cruel edge to his features were back. His eyes were once again dead and devoid of life.

He was at once relieved and furious.

Link was right. Thomas _was_ being controlled. It really _hadn't_ been Thomas who had killed his father. It had been Agahnim. Agahnim had used one of his oldest and best friends to kill his father. Used him like a tool, and discarded Bruiser like a toy.

And at the thought the slow burning fury that had been eating away at him since Bruiser had died flared up in full.

If he was going to die, he'd be damned if he'd go down easy.

Before he could move, though, Agahnim spoke again, his words silky and his tone dulcet.

"No one is going to die tonight, young Sheikah," he said. "Not tonight. You're worth more alive and you'd never be able to kill me. I think you know that." He did. He frowned darkly and scanned the room. There was only one door and Agahnim was between he and it. He returned his eyes to the wizard.

So this was it then.

This was how he was going to die.

He lowered his head. There was really only one thing to do. He couldn't let Agahnim use him against Link and the others the way he had Thomas. There was no other choice.

_Sen quis lodanan sen vennan._

The quest before the conquered.

Even if you were the conquered.

So be it.

"If you think you'll do to me what you did to him," he gestured at Thomas, "and use me against my friends you've got another think coming." He produced a dagger from his sleeve with a small flourish. The Wizard raised an eyebrow. The dagger wasn't for Agahnim and they both knew it. Hunter tightened his grip on it but before he could follow through the wizard raised his hand and spoke a sharp word and Hunter suddenly found he couldn't move his hand.

"I can see you're going to be uncooperative," Agahnim said flatly, all traces of silk gone from his voice. He gestured again and Hunter felt his hand wrenched open and the dagger clattered uselessly to the floor. The next instant his knees went weak and he sank to the floor with a gasp. "If it consoles you at all," the wizard commented, "you won't be used against your friends. At least not in the way you think." The wizard gestured once more and Hunter felt his grip on consciousness slip from his grasp and everything went black.

"Take him to the ritual chamber," Agahnim said flatly. Thomas immediately moved to do as he said and the mage lowered himself down into a nearby chair, glaring at the two youths. Thomas avoided his gaze much like a guilty dog avoids its master's when it knows its done something wrong, and it was likely a good thing. Though he appeared calm on the outside, Agahnim was fuming on the inside.

The Hero had somehow managed to shatter his control over the boy for that brief time. It was a simple enough thing to put back, of course. Thomas was weak against it to begin with, and the longer subjected to the spell the easier it was to fall to it again. The point was that it had been broken, and that it had taken very little time to do it at all. He had expected the Sage of Spirit to be the problem, not the Hero. But not even the Sage of Spirit could have broken it that easily. There would have been a contest of wills, his own versus hers. The Hero had somehow bypassed that.

Thomas, once his best agent, had been effectively rendered useless. He could no longer be sent after those he required since the Hero would simply break the spell again.

And if he was of no use, then there was no point allowing him to live. He had become a hazard more than anything. A weak point in his chain of power. If the Hero somehow managed to get hold of him again, there was no telling how much he could and would reveal of Agahnim's own plans. The twin girls he had kept in the dark – he could only maintain one of that particular mind control spell at a time, and the threat of Thomas's own death should they betray him had been enough to keep them in line anyway – and so could ruin nothing, and were easily enough disposed of anyway. But Thomas …

His train of thought trailed off as a new one took over. He frowned thoughtfully and played the new idea over in his mind, looking for holes or weaknesses. At this point, there were none …

A small smile pulled at his shrivelled lips.

Perhaps … perhaps there was a use for the boy after all.

He'd just have to wait and see.

But in the mean time, he had a spell to perform.

He got to his feet and moved towards the door, chuckling hollowly to himself.

Soon … Ganon would free.


	8. It Worked, Didn't It?

#  **Chapter 8 and Interludes**

_"If all else fails use fire."  
_ Townsperson from Legend of Zelda II: The Adventure of Link

_"I am error."  
_ Error, from The Legend of Zelda II: The Adventure of Link

##  **Chapter 8**

"LINK! DUCK!"

I have just enough time to throw myself at the ground and cover my head with the hands before something small and round and explosive sails through the space where I had been. The next second I'm rendered temporarily deaf by the subsequent explosion. Little bits of chipped stone rain down around me and I scramble back to my feet, throwing Nabooru a frantic glare.

"The head!" I practically shriek, darting between two of the four remaining massive Armos statues just as they prepare to leap up and grind me into a pulp. There's a third just behind them, still and glittering, encased in about a foot of ice, that I need to get to ASAP. "Aim for the head! The _head_!"

"I'm _trying_!" Nabooru shrieks back, playing her own dodging game with the fourth Armos, who is trying to crush her in a pile of Gerudo-goo. "They won't stay still!" Sheik darts past me, my bow in his hands and my quiver on his back. He's heading for the Armos harassing Nabooru, already nocking a silver arrow to the bow. I scoop up the Megaton Hammer off the ground where I dropped it the last time one of those buggers blindsided me (I wouldn't have thought it possible to be "blindsided" by something approximately the size of a mountain, but hey, I guess I was wrong) and heft it over my shoulder. The icy Armos is starting to tremble again and spider web cracks have appeared in the ice. I've already learned the hard way that they don't stay frozen for ever (please note my previous reference to being blindsided by a monstrosity of a statue) and my ribcage is aching for it now. I skid to a stop in front of the frozen monolith and swing the hammer with all of my strength.

The force of the blow sends shards of ice glittering through the air as the Armos topples over with that ponderous, indignant air that all massive things seem to adopt upon finding gravity is, in fact, a bitch. I throw my arm in front of my face as it strikes the ground and the ice around it shatters, hissing in pain when a shard somehow finds its way across my cheek. It trembles angrily but it has nowhere to go and no way of getting back to its feet (foot … base … whatever), and since it's no longer upright I can now crawl up onto it and smash it to bits.

Another explosion sounds from behind me, but I'm already pulling myself up on top of the Armos' chest. I spread my feet and raise the hammer over my head (silently thanks the Goddesses that it was my turn to wear the silver bracers and not Neesha's or Hunter's. I'd never be able to lift this damn thing without them). I bring the hammer down as hard as I can, putting all my strength behind the blow and letting gravity do the rest. The hammer smashes into its chest with a resounding bang. The red glow in the Armos' eyes flickers for a moment as massive cracks appear and it shudders under my feet. I steady myself and waste no time in hitting it a second time, in the same spot. It doesn't take a third. The body crumbles into several large pieces of rubble (I _just barely_ manage to keep my footing on the chunk I'm standing on as it rocks and rolls under my feet) and the dull glow fades from the crimson eyes.

"Two down," I grunt, leaping off the chunk of Armos under my feet and heading back towards Nabooru, Sheik, and the remaining statues, "three to go."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Bel and Mel stared in horror at the spot where Neesha had been. The little section of floor was already resetting itself as they watched but there was definitely no Gerudo on it.

"Little brat," Bel snarled, whirling on her heel to run towards the stairs. Mel moved to follow her but the next instant spotted three figures rounding the corner into the room and she stopped in her tracks.

All five of them froze in mid-step and just stared for a half-second.

"Bel," Dune breathed, eyes wide. "Mel!" The twins sucked in a startled breath at the same time, then:

"Run!" Bel cried, whirling around and shoving her sister backwards. Mel stumbled a step and then did just that.

"Darunia!" Acqul cried. Whatever answer Darunia may have given was lost in the crackling roar of the flames that had spontaneously appeared in the doorway the twins had been running towards.

"Dammit!" Mel cried, skidding to a stop. They whirled around to head for another exit, and ran straight into the rock hard gut of Darunia, Big Brother of Gorons – and at the moment, every inch of him looked the part. His arms were crossed over his chest, his mouth was set into a hard, unimpressed frown, and his eyes were narrowed into little black slits. The twins backed up two steps, unable to go any farther because of the flames.

"Darunia," Bel said, her voice panicked. "Darunia please …"

"You have to let us go," Mel added. "Please …" Darunia said nothing, and in the interim Dune and Acqul had come up to flank them.

"Bel! Mel!" Dune gasped. "You're all right! Where's Thomas?"

"And the other children you've taken," Acqul added. Bel and Mel exchanged a long miserable glance. Darunia had the distinct impression an entire conversation was passing between them, and for some reason, he felt an odd stirring of pity in his gut at the look. Before he could dwell on it, however, Bel pulled a long, thin silver cylinder out of her uniform and without warning put it to her lips before anyone could stop her, blowing into it with all her strength. A sharp, piercing whistle sliced through the air and Darunia and Acqul both hissed and put their hands to their ears to block it out. Dune, on the other hand, jumped forward and ripped the whistle away from Bel who's face had gone grim.

"We're sorry," Bel said.

"We have no choice," Mel added.

"What did you just—"

"Run," Bel said. "Run, now!"

But before anyone could run anywhere, a familiar rumbling had filled the air. Darunia, Acqul and Dune all whirled around in shock. Slithering in through the large doors set into the wall to their right was the serpent from outside the tower. It had doubled back on them somehow while they were busy with the twins.

"We're sorry," Mel said again, and as one they turned and bolted for the door before anyone could stop them. The snake ignored the twins, making a beeline for the other three. Darunia snarled an oath and whirled around to dismiss the fire that was now blocking their only escape from the room. Before he could do anything, however, several loud bangs echoed from all over the room as wide patches of floor all along the walls began to drop away, including the one between them and the door.

It was too far to jump without a running start and the snake was now on the center platform with them.

There was no more room, and no more time.

Acqul's fins snapped out, Dune drew her weapons and Darunia balled his fists.

Somewhere behind the snake the door swung shut.

The snake reared up, and the battle began.

***

##  **Chapter 8 (cont.)**

"You all right?" Nabooru grunts, dropping into a crouch beside me.

"Oh yeah," I grind out from between my teeth, leaning my head back against the large piece of rubble I'm hiding behind, clutching my arm in a white-knuckled grip. "It's just my arm. Didn't need it anyway."

"Get your tongue away from your teeth," she says flatly, then grabs the chunk of rock embedded in my upper arm and rips it out. I gasp at the sudden burst of pain, convinced for a half second that she's ripped my entire arm off. That, at least, is what it feels like. I grind my teeth and clutch the wound tighter, almost grateful for the sudden warm rush of blood over my frozen fingertips, if for nothing else.

"Suck it up, highness," Nabooru says bluntly, "there's still one left and Hunter was carrying the potions." She pulls her arm out of her coat long enough to rip the sleeve off the shirt she's wearing under it. I remove my hand so that she can tie it tightly over my wounded arm. She helps me back to my feet, then shrugs the rest of her coat off. "In my way anyway," she grumbles at it before hurling herself back into the fray to take some of the pressure off Sheik. I'm only a second behind her.

"Zelda!" Nabooru shouts, lighting the fuse on one of our rapidly dwindling bombs and throwing it hard into the air. Zelda redirects her focus and lets a fire arrow fly. It strikes the bomb right in front of the final Armos' face and explodes. The Armos topples forward through the smoke and Nabooru and Zelda scramble to get out of its way, while I slide in towards it.

Its eyes glitter malevolently at me as it falls towards me, but not for long. I tighten my grip on the megaton hammer and swing it in an underhanded arc, smashing it into the Armos' face. The head explodes in a hail storm of stone. I get slashed by a piece or two, but the next instant I've put up Nayru's Love and I'm more or less defended from the rest of the shrapnel. The rest of the hulking body strikes the ground and trembles for a moment, then goes still. I roughly wipe my forehead with my arm, ignoring the dull throb from the gash in it when I move.

If Agahnim's got the power to animate an Armos this big, let alone four of them …

What the Hell's he doing to Hunter and the others?

I dismiss Nayru's love and lean weakly against the statue's body, panting heavily.

Everything on me hurts. Ironic, considering the most serious wound I've got is the one in my arm. But there's a certain kind of pain reserved for little cuts and scrapes that just totally blows anything else out of the water. Being run through felt better than the three millions little nicks all over me does right now. I can't even really decide where I'm hurt there's so many of them.

And yet …

And yet I can't shake the feeling that this was too easy.

I'm in pretty good shape all things considered, and Zelda and Nabooru are hardly hurt at all (damn their agility. I _wish_ I could dodge like that, but noooo. All I can do is smash things with a hammer).

There's no way it should be this simple.

"Well," Nabooru says with a sigh. "We may as well start searching the rubble for the pendant. One of them may have been—"

The rest of what she's saying is lost to me as a sudden, horrifying realization drives my complaints from my mind and makes my gut clench.

The pendant …

The Goddess-damned pendant!

"Dammit!" I snarl, punching the hunk of rock I'm leaning against. Sheik (who is now Zelda again) and Nabooru both turn to me in shock.

"What? What is it?" Zelda asks.

"The pendant!" I gesture helplessly. "Hunter was wearing it!" Zelda stares at me, eyes wide in horror and I turn to Nabooru, expecting to see the same expression on her face when she realizes that we have effectively gift-wrapped the pendant we stole from Agahnim in the first place and given it back to him, hand delivered by a rather important member of our team. Instead, however, what I see is a kind of guilty, caught-in-her-own-trap expression and I can feel my jaw set.

I know that look.

"Nabooru …" I say disapprovingly. "You didn't." She crosses her arms and glares at me in a huff.

"What?" She demands irritably. "It's not like I _hide_ the fact that I'm a thief, now is it? You just seem to enjoy denying what is right in front of your face."

"Nabooru!"

"I was going to give it back!" She grumbles, reaching into her shirt and pulling out the glittering blue medallion. "He was being a snot, so I took it. I was going to give it back once he'd apologized."

"Nabooru! We had a deal!" I hold out my hand with a flat glare and she sullenly drops the bauble into my hand. I frown darkly at her.

"What was the deal?" Zelda asks curiously, the horror she'd originally displayed replaced with relief. Nabooru glares at the both of us, but remains stubbornly silent.

"She's not supposed to steal from me, Hunter, Neesha, Malon, or you, in exchange me for not telling the whole fortress…" I let myself trail off and direct a pointed look at Nabooru.

"Yes?" Zelda prompts. Nabooru actually looked embarrassed for a half second and fixes me with a pleading look.

"Well," I say finally, "let's just say that after three years, there are a lot of things I've promised not to tell the whole fortress, in exchange for a lot of other things." Zelda raises an eyebrow at me as I slip the pendant on around my neck.

"Isn't that blackmail, Link?" She asks disapprovingly. I raise an eyebrow right back.

"And she's a thief," I reply simply. "Fight fire with fire. Fight illegal activity with illegal activity. And for the record, there isn't much illegal in the dessert. If you'd prefer I could take you off the no-stealy list, but I don't think you'd enjoy that much. Nabooru's got the stickiest fingers of any woman in the fortress. _Don't_!" I add, raising a hand to cut off Nabooru, who's grinning evilly. "Now … about the other pendant …"

"Spoil sport," Nabooru says, still grinning. I roll my eyes at her.

"Better than a—" but before I can finish my sentence, a loud crash cuts me off and sets the floor to trembling under our feet. All three of us stumble at the unexpected movement and grasp at each other for balance.

"What was—" this time it's Zelda's turn to be cut off, but it's not just by a crash. The wall I'm staring at suddenly explodes inward, showering us with bits of stone. Through the cloud of dust created from it I can just make out a pair of red eyes, burning furiously through the haze, brighter and angrier somehow than the eyes of those we've already taken out.

And higher, too. They're definitely higher.

"What _is_ it with Black Magicians and huge monsters?"

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Neesha froze and pressed herself up against the wall of the stairwell at the sound of frantic voices.

"—you get it? We just sentenced them to death!" Someone – one of the twins to be sure – shouted. Frantic footsteps. They were getting closer. Neesha loosened her scimitar in its sheath.

"I _know_ Bel!" Mel shrieked back. "You think I don't _know_ that? But what other choice do we have?" There was an angry snarl and the dull thud of someone punching a wall. Both sets of footsteps stopped, maybe five feet away from Neesha's hiding place. She held her breath and clutched the hilt of her weapon. Couldn't draw it now, they'd hear her.

"There's always a choice!" Bel cried. "Always! That's what Hunter always used to say! How do we know we're making the right one?"

"We're making the only one we can!" Mel exploded right back. Both of their voices were shaking with so many emotions Neesha was surprised they didn't literally explode. "He'll _kill_ Thomas if we make any other, do you understand that? Thomas' life is in our hands, Bel! If we stop … if we don't … he'll kill him. You know he will. We can't do that. We can't let him kill Thomas."

"So instead we'll let him force us to kill everyone else, is that it?" Bel demanded, her voice thick with frustrated tears. "We just _abandoned_ Dune to that monstrosity. It'll kill her, Mel. Make no mistake about that. And Darunia and Acqul while it's at it. And whose to say Agahnim's even telling the truth about Link and Laruto and Saria and Malon, hmm? How do we know he's not actually killing them too? We don't! We don't know anything!"

Neesha risked peeking out into the hallway. The twins were both crying or close to it, and oblivious to everything but their argument. Neesha crept out into the hallway.

"Bel…" Mel's voice was thick now too. "Bel, please … don't do this. You know … we can't just let him die. Dune … Dune would understand, okay? If she knew it would save … save Thomas, she'd _want_ to—"

"Don't finish that, Mel. Don't you dare finish that."

"Look," Mel said, angry and frustrated, "look … we've been over this a million times. There's … there's no point going over it again. Maybe it won't kill them. They're tough, all of them. And Darunia's a sage. They'll kill it. I bet you any money. They can … they can defend themselves, okay? Thomas can't. Not … not after what Agahnim's done to him. We need … we need to find Neesha, all right? She's … she's the last one if Thomas succeeds at the Tower of Farore. Then … then maybe everything will go back to normal."

For the briefest of instants Neesha thought to herself that it was a ridiculous amount of stress and heartache and pain to go through over a male.

But the thought didn't go very deep. More of a reflex action, than anything else.

She knew she'd do tenfold what they'd done if it was for Hunter or Link.

It was time to end this.

She let go of her sword.

"If you believe that," she said, startling the twins into whirling around and gaping at her, "then you've just proven right every derogatory remark my people have ever made about yours."

"Neesha!" Mel gasped.

"How long have you been standing there?" Bel demanded.

"Long enough," Neesha answered. "Longer than you'd like." The twins moved slowly for their weapons, but Neesha did not. She planted her feet instead and crossed her arms over her chest. "Tell you what," she said, raising a cool eyebrow at them. "If you can give me one good reason, I'll go with you peacefully." Bel snorted.

"Oh yes, I believe that," she said. "You haven't done a peaceful thing in your life."

"Oh my honour as a Red," Neesha replied easily. The twins simultaneously raised an eyebrow. They might not have thought much of Gerudo honour overall, but Neesha's, they knew for a fact, was worth something.

"What kind of a reason?" Mel asked warily, hand hovering over her daggers.

"Well I don't know," Neesha responded darkly. "What could possibly be a good enough reason for the two of you to betray your friends and family like this?" Bel winced.

"If you were standing there you know why," she returned flatly.

"Because you seem to think Agahnim will let Thomas live if you do," Neesha responded dully. "Maybe that would be enough if it were true, but it's not." Both twins glared at her.

"What do you know?" Mel demanded angrily.

"I know that men like Agahnim talk out of both sides of their faces and couldn't tell the truth to save their own life, which is pretty much the only thing they care about anyway."

"Shut up," Bel growled. "You don't understand, Neesha." But Neesha did not shut up. She ran right over Bel, a burning undercurrent of anger in her voice.

"I know that kidnapping babies and handing them over to men like Agahnim is the single most dishonourable thing I've ever heard of, let alone the babies of your allies."

"We had no choice!"

"And most of all I know that Thomas, weak-willed and useless though he may be from time to time, would not thank you for what you've done in his name. In fact I think he'd hate you for it. And this assuming he didn't blame himself for the whole mess." A stricken look crossed the faces of both of the twins, and Neesha knew she'd hit a nerve. She pressed home her advantage mercilessly. "Think about it. Let's assume for the sake of argument that Agahnim really _isn't_ a slimy, two-faced, son-of-a-she-snake. Let's assume that he's the nice guy you're saying he is. Let's assume that you get me, and Zelda, and you take us back for him to do what he will with us, and in return he keeps his end of the bargain and gives you back Thomas." Neesha's eyes narrow. "You think he'll be grateful? When you tell him that you've sold out some of his closest friends and handed them over to their worst enemy, you think he'll _thank you_ for that? I bet he'll just _love_ the part where you tried to kill Link and Brayden, let _alone_ the part where you left his mother to die. Oh, and just _picture_ the look on his face when you tell him that you let him murder Bruiser." Bel and Mel's faces went ashen and their eyes went wide.

"What?" Bel demanded, her voice nothing more than a horrified whisper.

"He what?" Mel choked.

"You didn't know?" Neesha demanded, feeling the stirrings of fury in her gut when she remembered it. "How quaint. Well, let me describe it then." Her voice was low and sharp as the scimitar at her waist. "First, he used some kind of a spell to hold Hunter and I in place."

"Hunter was there … he … he saw?" Bel whispered. Mel looked like she was going to sick.

"Then, with Bruiser hurt and bleeding on the ground, he took one of his soldier's bows—"

"Stop, you're lying!" Mel moaned.

"Nocked an arrow to it, pointed it down at his chest—" She mimed the motions with her hands.

"Oh Farore … oh Din …"

"And let it go. Point blank, at a dying man on the floor, in front of his son. Cold blooded murder." Bel and Mel were white as sheets at the news neither of them could deny. "Oh yes," Neesha said, merciless, "I'm sure he'll be ecstatic with the two of you when you tell him." Her eyes were hard. "There are some things worse than death."

A pain-filled scream, and an angry shout echoed down the corridor, quiet for the first time since Bel and Mel had run down it.

The twins turned and stared back the way they'd come. Neesha shoved past them, and neither made a move to stop her.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some friends to rescue."

***

##  **Chapter 8 (cont.)**

"Are you _sure_ you're a Gerudo?"

"What the Hell kind of question is that?" Nabooru demands in a whisper, glaring at me.

"Well it's just I've never heard any other Gerudo ever utter the phrase, 'we need to hide.' I mean … not even Neesha and she's pretty much a freak when you get right down to it."

"Link, you're being terribly offensive right now, and between the five massive Armos statues that were trying to kill me ten minutes ago, and the one, titanic Armos statue that's trying to kill me right now, I just haven't got the patience to deal with a nasty little brat of a king who continues to insist on shooting his mouth off."

"It's a valid question," I point out innocently.

"Do near-death experiences make you giddy or something?" She demands with a growl.

"A little," I admit.

"Shut up already!" She hisses. "You're going to give us away."

"It's not like it has ears," I point out. Nabooru levels a nasty glare at me and I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not being flippant, I'm being serious. They don't hear."

"Then how—"

"Presence," I answer. "It's when you get close to them. They can sense you then. Otherwise, no, they haven't got a clue."

"Mm-hmm," Nabooru says, "and if Agahnim can make them this big, what's to say he can't give them hearing as well?"

"Uh …"

"Exactly. Now shut up."

"Back!" Nabooru and I both jump and turn to where Sheik is sliding into the little nook Nabooru and I have hidden ourselves in.

"Well?"

"It's gone berserk," he answers. "Absolutely insane. It's at least twice as fast as the last four, and about half again as big."

"What's it doing?" I ask.

"Smashing blindly into walls from what I could see. I think it's looking for us." I shoot a smug grin at Nabooru who studiously ignores me.

"Told you it sees through sensing presence."

"Yeah, well, it's sense goes a lot further than the last four too," Sheik says grimly. "I thought I was a safe distance away but it came straight for me. If I hadn't already been right by the stairs, I'd be done for. As it is, I think the stairs are pretty much trashed. If we go down again, we won't be getting back up that way."

"You all right?" I ask. His eyes crinkle at the corner into a smile.

"Fine. It's just a big, dumb statue."

"Kind of like a big, dumb man," Nabooru says with a grin.

"Hey," I say, frowning at her. "I'm still here, you know."

"I wasn't talking about you, now was I?" She returns primly. Then adds in a not-so-conspiratorial whisper to Zelda, "He's not exactly big, now is he?"

"Oh, you're dead when we get out of this Nabooru. You're beyond dead. You're undead."

"Anything to please my King," she returns sarcastically, then turns back to Sheik. "Any chance of us just leaving the damn thing bashing itself off walls? We're here for the pendant, right, do we really need to get ourselves killed against it?" I fake a gasp.

"Running away from a fight, Nabooru? You really _aren't_ a Gerudo!" I grin at her. "Admit it. You're a Hylian."

"Keep it up, highness, and I won't be the only one dead before we're done this tower."

"As much as I'm enjoying your oh-so-witty-banter," Sheik says bluntly, "no, there's no choice. We need to fight the damn thing."

"Why?" I ask. Sheik sighs and points to his forehead.

"Because it's got a glittering green thing embedded right here and I'm willing to bet my entire fortune that it's the Pendant of Courage." Nabooru sighs, then shrugs.

"Well, if there's nothing for it, there's nothing for it. Let's go."

"You're not even going to come up with a plan first?" Sheik demands, glaring incredulously at her. Nabooru meets her stare blankly.

"Why?"

"I take it back," I say with a roll of my eyes. "You _are_ Gerudo. Because generally, Nabooru you don't just rush into fights like this without _some_ kind of plan of attack."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I could have sworn that you, the unchallenged _champion_ of rushing-into-things-half-cocked just tried to lecture _me_ about the benefits of having a plan."

"Well … maybe not a plan, per se, but we should at least try and figure out its weak points."

"Link," Nabooru says dully, "it's a 3 tonne pile of stone. Even its weak points, aren't really all that weak."

"Well what supplies do we have left?" I ask. Nabooru and Sheik immediately turn to their packs for an inventory check.

"Seven bombs," Nabooru says.

"Three magic arrows, but no ammo to use them with."

"And one megaton hammer," I grumble. "In other words, not much."

"Any ideas?" Sheik asks. Nabooru frowns thoughtfully and hefts a bomb.

"Maybe one," she says. "But we'll only get one shot at it …"

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Darunia!"

The Big-Brother of the Gorons let out a roar that was half-fury, half-pain (though perhaps three-quarters fury was a better estimate) as the serpent tightened its coils around him. His own muscles bulged as he struggled to break the snake's grapple, but it was no use. The snake twisted tighter again, keeping a wary eye on the other two.

"Darunia! Use your powers!" Dune cried, mind working frantically.

"Can't," Darunia grunted back, struggling to get enough air into his lungs to produce the noise. "No—ugh!—room. You're in ran—ngh!"

"Farore," Acqul snarled. "Forget us, Darunia! Just do it! It's going to kill you!" The snake gave a hiss that seemed somehow inordinately pleased at the situation.

"He's not going to do it," Dune said, staring helplessly at Darunia and nervously spinning her dagger. "He's not. Not with us in the way."

"I know that," Acqul snapped. "So what are we supposed to do about it? We can't reach its tail from here and the rest of it's damn-near impervious!" Dune resisted the urge to take her eyes off the snake and glare at him.

"Well what about your fin blades? They can go around it."

"Oh yes, and then I can slice Darunia's head off by accident, that's a brilliant plan Dune, just brilliant." Dune forced herself to bite her tongue. This wasn't the time to fight. Later she could claw his eyes out, right now there were other issues.

"Look, just, shut up, all right. I'm going to go distract it. Maybe I can get it to give you a clear shot at its tail. It's not exactly bright." Acqul blinked at her in surprise, then frowned darkly.

"You don't think these things through, do you? It's not bright but it's fast. What if it eats you?" He demanded.

"Then I guess I'm out of your way once and for all, now aren't I?" And with that she moved off, brandishing her weapons and shouting at the snake. Acqul watched her go with a dark look.

"You would assume that, wouldn't you?" He demanded under his breath, then shook his head and eyed the snake, waiting for an opening. Darunia's struggles were rapidly weakening and Acqul suddenly found himself silently cursing the Goron's concern for the lives of others. Personally he'd rather eat a fireball than have to go back to the desert and break the news to Karun that he'd managed to lose Darunia, let alone to a great, stupid snake of all things. Fighting with Dune was taking all of his resolve and energy to begin with, he didn't really feel like crossing another friend off his list. That would leave him with what? Rue? While it was true he considered the Gerudo a friend, she was a … distant friend at best. Removed, somehow.

And then there was Ruto, who would kill him if he told her he'd lost Darunia. Or worse, divorce him. She was inordinately fond of the large Goron, and he doubted there were enough flowers and sweets in the world to make up for that.

That and it would be one more thing on the list of things he and Dune were currently blaming each other for. A list that was far too long in his opinion, but Dune seemed quite happy with it like that. All she had to do was admit that Thomas had kidnapped Laruto and they could put this stupid fight behind them.

But she had, hadn't she? Or she had at least acknowledged Thomas' part in it. But so what? That didn't get him Laruto back, and whether Dune had admitted it or not, it was still Thomas who'd taken her in the first place. His arm was still stiff from his fight with the boy, and in his unguarded moments, when he let himself relive the memory, Laruto's frightened shriek was still as piercing as ever in his mind. He had been helpless to save his daughter that night, just as he was helpless to save her now, and it felt like it was betraying her to associate with anyone who supported her kidnapper. Bad enough he had failed her. Bad enough he hadn't been able to keep her from them. He wouldn't start consorting with those who'd taken her in the first place.

But Dune hadn't, had she? Her son had.

But she still supported her son. She still refused to acknowledge him for the monster he was (after all, only a monster would kidnap a helpless little girl).

But it wasn't really him, was it? He was being used and manipulated by a power ten times worse than the boy could ever hope to be.

And if the situations had been reversed, would Acqul have reacted any differently than Dune?

Probably not, but he was frightened. Frightened for his daughter, terrified of what had happened, of what might happen, of what could be happening in that very instant. She wasn't even three yet! She was still just a baby! _His_ baby! And when he thought about her being in the hands of Agahnim …

He needed someone close to blame, if for no other reason than to feel like he was doing _something_ about the situation.

He narrowed his eyes and raised his arms, waiting for an open shot at the beast's tail.

Why couldn't Dune understand that?

Dune dodged a half-hearted lunge from the snake and scowled up at it.

"Stupid beast," she growled. The snake appeared to be torn between devouring her, and slowly squeezing the life out of Darunia. It's limited intelligence apparently didn't account for the fact it could do both at the same time. She felt a brief pang of what might have been pity for the beast. It may have been gifted with size and strength, but it had been robbed of intelligence and that, she supposed, was actually kind of sad. It really was just a great big snake, after all. Not a monster. Not a demon. Just a great big snake. Not evil in and of itself, but being put to an evil task by an evil man against whom it never really had a chance.

_Not that Acqul could understand that_ , she thought bitterly to herself, dancing out of the snake's way again, trying to lure it further to the right so Acqul could hit it. Darunia was starting to look a bit blue. _In fact he'd probably think I was crazy for even thinking it. And he does, doesn't he? Never mind that in that case it's a boy and not a snake we're talking about._ My _boy._ She shook her head.

What did he expect her to do? Turn her back on her son? Her last child? She'd rather be back in the middle of the Great War, dying on a Gerudo blade.

It wasn't like she didn't sympathize with Acqul. She could understand what he was going through. She was going through it too. It wasn't like his was the only child in Agahnim's possession. Thomas was as much a prisoner to the old mage as Laruto. Maybe even more so! There would be little point controlling the mind and body of a two-year-old. Poor Laruto, wherever she was, was probably as in control of her own mental faculties as any two-year-old _could_ be, and the poor thing was probably scared out of her wits.

What kind of monster did Acqul take her for if he thought she wasn't aware of that? If he thought Laruto's plight, along with that of Goron-Link, and Saria, and Malon wasn't almost as much on her mind as that of Thomas'? And weren't they all technically in the same situation anyway? And their parents and friends as well? Acqul was acting like _he_ was the only one out of their once tight-knit little group that had lost something, that had something at stake!

She'd lost a child too, dammit!

Why couldn't Acqul understand that?

A streak of blue cut just in front of her face and she snapped out of her reverie just in time to notice the snake rearing up and away from her.

"Dammit, Dune!" Acqul shouted. "Pay attention! You're going to get killed!" Horrified that she'd let herself grow that distracted in a situation as tense as this one, Dune shook herself and focused once more on the task at hand – impossible as that task now seemed. She cast a glance over at Darunia who had somehow managed to get one arm free. The snake must have loosened its hold when it thought it had her. The Goron was now pounding away at the snake's scales, without much luck. He was in an awkward position, and the lack of oxygen couldn't really be helping. Dune offered up a silent thanks to the Goddesses for Goron toughness (not to mention the conditioning that living in the mountains (and the occasional active volcano) gave to their respiratory systems) and once more began to consider her options. The snake was refusing to be diverted from Darunia for more than a few precious seconds at a time, and as dim as the creature was it had apparently realized that they had found it's one weak spot and was now doing its best to keep them from hitting it and causing the beast anymore pain.

Maybe if she went on the offensive …

Before she could do anything more, however, a sharp, piercing whistle split through her focus and forced her hands up to her ears. Everyone in the room, the snake included, looked up sharply to the level above them, where the noise was coming from. The ceiling of the room was comprised of another patchwork floor like the one they were standing on, and some of the tiles had fallen away, revealing a door, out of which a familiar figure in a red uniform was hanging, blowing a tiny whistle as loud as she could.

They had barely enough time to process this image, before two other figures dressed in blue and white barrelled out the door and into the air, metal flashing in their hands. Bel and Mel dropped the distance between themselves and the snake and landed hard on its head. The snake froze, confused by this unexpected action on the part of its previous masters. It didn't stay frozen for long, however, because Bel and Mel, uncaring of the tenuous grip they had on its slick scales, each took a different side of its face and raised their arms, simultaneously driving their daggers into the snake's eyes.

It reared up with an ear-shattering shriek of pain and threw the twins off of it, uncoiling itself from around Darunia in favour of thrashing about. Bel fell hard onto the floor, but immediately scrambled back up and to her feet in order to dodge the snake's thrashing. Mel flew wide and would have fallen between the open spaces in the floor had Acqul not thrown himself towards the edge to catch her hand. Neesha had her whip out and tied to something and was waiting for a clear spot to lower herself down to a place where she could jump.

Dune didn't allow herself the time to wonder what the twins' sudden reappearance meant, or if they'd had a change of heart. Through some stroke of fate they now had the upper hand (as much as being trapped on a platform with a giant, thrashing snake could be considered the upper hand), and she wasn't about to waste it.

The cavalry had arrived, and it was time to end it.

The fight was over.

***

##  **Chapter 8 (cont.)**

There are a lot of different kinds of love. I love a lot of things, in a lot of different ways. I love my hat, for instance. I love my sword too. Sometimes I even love Zelda.

But what I think I love the most, more than anything else in the whole world, is how all of Nabooru's insane, we'll-only-get-one-shot-at-it plans somehow _always_ involve me, running around like a maniac, being chased by the biggest, ugliest, most _painful_ creature she can find.

And by love in this case, I of course mean quite the opposite.

"Why do _I_ always have to be the diversion?" I grumble under my breath (which is getting shorter by the second) as I scramble out of the way of the Armos, which is doing its damndest to grind me into the ground. Sheik wasn't kidding when he said it was faster than the others. I'm pretty sure it's faster than me, and if it didn't have to spend so much time gathering itself to leap (what with the no legs and all) I'd be dead about fifty times over by now. As it is I think I'm going to rendered permanently deaf. It's not exactly quiet as a feather landing, now is it?

I risk a glance over my shoulder as the Armos gathers itself to jump on me again. Sheik and Nabooru are in the middle of the room, fiddling with our bombs, trying to arrange them as fast as they can, as perfectly as they can in the way that will cause the most damage.

The plan is rudimentary at best, but when all you've got to your name is seven bombs, rudimentary's about as good as you can get. Besides, an Armos – no matter how big – is a pretty rudimentary monster, all things considered. All they know how to do is hop and smash and occasionally this really complicated manoeuvre, which involves hopping and smashing at the same time. So our plan consists basically of getting it to hippity-hop its way over to the bag o' bombs we've left for it, just in time to get blown to bits by them.

Like I said, rudimentary. Here's hoping we can pull this off without me getting killed.

"Any time now, ladies!" I call, then abruptly reverse my direction as the Armos jumps. I run under it, spending a breathless, heart-stopping second or two beneath its shadow, and just manage to make it out behind it before it lands. It trembles angrily and begins hopping in place to turn itself around and resume its frantic chase.

Oh Goddess I wish I could put up Nayru's Love …

But what spells I can actually cast don't work like Rue's spells. I don't use components for them. Whatever juice they need comes straight from me, and I've really only got enough energy left for one good spell.

And I need to save it if this plan is going to work.

Not that I told them that. The only reason they agreed to let me do this instead of one of them is because they think I'm going to cast Nayru's Love before the bomb's go off, thereby protecting myself from the explosion.

My plan's more like, wait 'till the last possible second then run like a scalded rabbit, eventually resorting to stop-drop-and-roll if it comes to that.

"All right!" Sheik shouts as she and Nabooru suddenly leap up and begin moving away from the centre of the room "We're ready!"

"Finally," I breathe. I switch direction again, but this time I'm not going in reverse. I make a ninety degree turn, instead, making a beeline for the little pile of death-and-destruction in the middle of the floor.

_Please let this work …_

The Armos is right on my heels, sensing the sudden shift in direction and speed and it easily matches my own, crashing down behind me over and over again – crashes entirely too close for my liking. I reach the bag (made of good old-fashioned, fire-proof dodongo stomach) of bombs, seven little fuses sticking up out of the top.

"Din's …," I shout as I take a flying leap over them. The Armos is right behind me, gotta time this right. "FIRE!" The instant my feet touch the ground again the familiar ring of fire explodes from my immediate vicinity. I can hear behind me the sound of multiple hissing fuses being lit simultaneously, and have only a moment for desperate thanks that the bag resisted the heat from the spell and didn't ignite any of the bombs too early.

I skid to a stop where I am and turn around, watching as the Armos pushes up into the air, like a giant chess piece plucked up by the hand of an invisible god (or goddess as the case may be) who has resolved to crush me with it.

"Link!" Sheik shouts. "Nayru's Love!"

I tense myself to leap out of the way and ignore her. I _wish_ I could cast that. What I wouldn't _give_ to cast that.

The instant it's shadow falls over me, Time slows down. I push around the bag as fast as I can, running hell-for-leather out from under it.

The Armos is a full second away from landing.

The fuses sizzle and go silent for half a second.

The second half of that second is filled with the deafening sound of an explosion.

It is only then that my brain finally processes the physics behind what is happening as I run, and I realize that given the fact that explosion is going to push the Armos backwards, maybe I should have run the other way and been out of its path, instead of running the way I'm running and having absolutely no hope of clearing out of its way before it smashes into me.

_Well, this is it,_ I manage to think to myself just as the impact from the explosion hits me in the back and picks me up off my feet. The Armos begins it's not-exactly-slow topple towards me. _I'm dead_.

Time speeds back up at the same time as something smashes into me from the side and dramatically alters my trajectory. It and I hit the ground and roll away in a tangled heap – whatever it is on top of me – as the Armos hits the ground and shatters into about three million pieces. Pebbles and rocks rains down around us and the thing that knocked me out of the way immediately identifies itself by smashing its forehead into my own in that oh-so-familiar way he has of telling me I was just about killed by my own stupidity.

You would think all those layers of Sheikan shawl around his head would soften the blow a bit.

"Farore!" I gasp, ripping my hands up to clutch at my forehead. "Sheik! Ow! Dammit!"

"Stupid!" Sheik snarls. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_! Why didn't you cast Nayru's Love? You said you were going to cast Nayru's Love!"

"I lied," I answer. "I do that sometimes." There's a flash and the load on top of me lightens a bit. The next second a hand sheathed in a white glove curls itself into a fist and punches my stomach. I grunt, then flash a flippant grin at her. "You hit like a girl when you're a girl."

She makes a loud noise somewhere between a scream and a snarl and throws her hands into the air in a rare display of losing-her-cool.

"You could been killed!" She cries. "You _would_ have been killed if I hadn't realized what you were doing! Are you suicidal? Do you _want_ to die?"

"Bah," I say, pulling myself out from under her as Nabooru jogs up to us, looking about as murderous as Zelda – from one of her fists dangles a glittering disc. "I'm never in any danger with my princess in shining armour around, now am I?" Zelda crosses her arms with an angry huff and fixes me with a frosty glare.

"I'm telling Rue about this," she growls. I raise an eyebrow at her.

"I'm not afraid of Rue," I lie.

"And _this_ ," Nabooru says flatly, arriving suddenly. "Is why I insist on sending the Elite with you everywhere. Because you do things like this. Why the Hell didn't you put up Nayru's Love?" I flash her a defiant look.

"I'm an adrenaline addict?" I offer as I climb to my feet.

Nabooru, as she is quick to demonstrate in this case, does _not_ hit like a girl.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Mel scrambled back up onto the platform and nodded a breathless thanks to Acqul without fully meeting his gaze.

"You have to hit its tail," she murmured, trying to ignore the obvious questions in his gaze. "That's it's last weak point now that we've taken out its eyes." Acqul continued to stare at her, oblivious for a moment to the thrashing snake. It was busy with Darunia, Neesha, Dune, and Bel.

"Bel—"

"Mel," she corrected him.

"Mel, what—"

"Look, Acqul," she said, her voice shaky. "A mistake made with the best of intentions, is still a mistake." She passed a trembling, blood-stained hand over her eyes. "And even the best of intentions only go so far."

Behind them the snake shrieked in pain again as Dune and Neesha both drove their swords deep into its tail.

"Is Thomas—" Mel mutely shook her head before he could even finish forming the sentence. "Laruto—"

"I don't know, Acqul. I don't know what he's done with her. I wish I did, but I don't. We're not … he was careful around us."

"You two … you have a _lot_ of explaining to do," he said, his voice low, and dark, and just thinly controlled. Mel nodded mutely, then abruptly shook her head, though it wasn't a negation.

The snake gave one final shriek before falling with a crash that sent a shudder through the whole platform. It's head fell over the edge and the weight of it dragged the rest of the body down to the bottom floor, where it landed with a dull thud.

The next instant Dune was there, pulling Mel into a tight hug and kissing the top of her head furiously. That was it for Mel. The young Sheikah burst into tears at the sudden display of affection and all but went limp in Dune's arms. Bel came over a moment later, not in any better shape than her twin, and Dune pulled her in as well. Neesha threw up her arms in disgust and moved away to stand with Darunia and peer over the edge to make sure the snake wasn't moving. Acqul looked back down at the huddle of Sheikah and for once didn't feel the urge to say something mean or petty.

The twins would tell their story soon enough, and maybe even provide some answers, though he had a feeling for every answer they got there would be three more questions.

He wondered briefly what kind of punishment Impa would issue for their actions. He wondered if anything Impa could give them would top what they looked as though they were going through right now. He heard one of them sniffle a muffled question at Dune, and he was pretty sure the word "Bruiser" was in it. He rubbed his face tiredly and moved towards Neesha and Darunia.

He wondered if Hyrule would ever really see peace.

"… has it," Neesha was saying. "They grabbed it before catching up with me. We came up with our plan then, and you know the rest from there."

"Your plan? You mean throwing yourselves from a story up onto a monster snake and stabbing its eyes out?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Neesha pointed out defensively. Darunia offered her an indulgent smile.

"Aye, lass," he agreed. "That it did."

"Who has what now?" Acqul asked.

"The pendant," Neesha said, waving her hand in the general direction of the twins. "The twins have it. We can officially go home now."

"I hope the other groups are all right," Darunia sighed.

***

Rue, Karun and Brayden all glanced up as Sahasrahla slid back into the small abode, brushing snow off his shoulders.

"Storm's wrapping up," he said simply. "It's time to go."

***

##  **Chapter 8 (cont.)**

I shield my eyes against the glare of the setting sun off the ice around us as we exit the tower. Epona whinnies happily when she spots us, and Nabooru and Hunter's horses both give us contemptuous looks, annoyed at having been left out in the cold for so long.

The sight of Hunter's horse makes me swallow thickly, and I once again shove away the urge to teleport straight to the Temple of Time. I'd like nothing more than to go in there, sword out and screaming like a lunatic until I get to Agahnim, but that's not helping anyone.

I will go in there, sword out and screaming like a lunatic. And I _will_ get to Agahnim.

But not until I have the Master Sword.

I can feel the two pendants, cool against my skin beneath my coat and tunic.

I turn to Nabooru.

"Remember," I tell her flatly, "Agahnim's black marked for the King." She nods seriously.

"I know. When we get back the whole fortress will know. He's yours, Highness. As it should be." I nod once and turn back around.

The sun finally slips beneath the horizon with a final, rebellious burst of dazzling light, and then darkness sweeps in to blanket the world.

_Soon,_ I promise myself as I pull myself up into Epona's saddle.

_Soon._


	9. Not by a Sheikah

#  **Chapter 9 and A Brief Interlude**

_"Now sometimes my heart is as true as a dove,  
And sometimes my heart it betrays me.  
So I draw my sword for to fight for my love  
And without a whisper she slays me."_

— Garth Brooks, "Pushing up Daisies" —

##  **Chapter 9**

"I'm just saying that is seems like a lot of fuss to go through over a _sword_ , no matter how nice a sword it may be."

"It's not just a _sword_ ," I insist. "It's the _Master Sword_. It's a … it's …" I wave my hand around in the air in a vague, unhelpful gesture as I try to find what I'm looking for.

"It's a symbol of Link's position as the Hero of Time," Zelda supplies, leaning against my side and frowning at Amplissa. "And it's an artefact of immense power and importance." Amplissa snorts and gives her one of the most condescending looks I've ever seen.

"Maybe to _your_ people," she responds coldly. "I wouldn't expect a Hylian to understand. A sword is a sword is a sword. It's the wielder who gives it any power it may have."

"With any other sword, yes," Zelda says primly, still frowning. "And even, in a way, with the Master Sword, since it's nothing but dead metal in anyone's hand but Link's. But if he _does_ have it, he can do things with it that he couldn't with a regular sword." She just manages to cut herself off before uttering _but I wouldn't expect a Gerudo to understand that_. I know she does, I can _feel_ it. I don't know what's gotten into her lately, but she's been just a bit edgier around the Gerudo and it's starting to worry me. Some of them are worse than others and I know quite a few who wouldn't take being talked back to by a Hylian woman sitting down. Amplissa is one of them. She doesn't take very much sitting down.

Thankfully, Amplissa doesn't appear to notice.

I drop my arm around Zelda's shoulders and give her arm a soft squeeze, begging her to relax. I love her to pieces, I really do, but if she sets the Gerudo on edge, it's _my_ life they make miserable.

"Personally, I think you'd be fine with two good, Gerudo scimitars at your side, and the Elite at your back," Amplissa says, which is not unexpected. Amplissa thinks just about anything can be solved with two good Gerudo scimitars at your side and the Elite at your back. "I don't think it matters _what_ sword you have. You still haven't told me why this one is so special to you."

"Well, like Zelda said—"

"I heard what the Princess said, and I understand what the Princess said. I know all of that. I'm asking why it's special to _you_. It can't just be that it's a symbol, or the power. You get attached to inane, unimportant, totally-not-powerful-and-more-often-than-not-in-the-way things all the time."

"Like what?" I ask, feeling sort of indignant. She raises an eyebrow and looks at the top of my head. "There's nothing wrong with my hat!" I cry, really indignant now. She smirks at me but doesn't say anything and I huff.

"So?" Zelda says, prodding my side. I blink and look down at her. She stares unfalteringly back.

"Amplissa raises a valid point," she says. "You haven't said why _you_ think the Master Sword matters." Now they're both staring at me expectantly.

"Well I … I mean …" I pause. "I've never really thought about it. It just … it does, that's it." They both look unsatisfied with that and I start gesturing uselessly again. "It's like … it's like … yes Zelda, you are right, and it's a part of being the Hero of Time. I need it to do my job and everything else. It makes my life easier. But Amplissa's right too," I say quickly, before Zelda can shoot Amplissa the smug look I can feel her forming. "I don't _need_ the sword to be the Hero of Time, anymore than I need my right arm to be Link. But it's … it _would_ be like losing a part of myself. It's …" I pause, uncomfortable. "It's felt like that since I left Hyrule to tell you the truth. Like I'm missing a limb. Or a … I don't know. Just a piece of me. A really important piece." Amplissa's still frowning, but she nods slowly in acquiescence.

"I'll admit," she says, "that what you're saying sounds odd to me, but I have noticed a difference since we left. You're technique's been … well I wouldn't call it off, but you're not as fluid as you should be." It's not an insult, it's a statement of fact and a gesture on her part to let it go. I nod at her, relieved that she's willing to let drop a topic that makes me sound insane, and lean back, propping my feet up on the table.

"So anyway," I say, "I thought you were off duty today. Where's Aliza? Isn't she supposed to be my shadow?"

"What, you're not enjoying my company?" She asks with a wry smirk.

"I find you absolutely riveting," I assure her. "It's just that Aliza doesn't generally turn down an opportunity to boss me around. Is she all right?" Amplissa frowns, just slightly at that.

"You let her get away with too much," she says disapprovingly. "She shouldn't speak to you as she does. It's not right for anyone to be giving you orders." I flash her a cocky smile.

"She can order all she wants, Amplissa, it doesn't mean I'm going to listen to a damn thing she says. She's bossy by nature. She _was_ a green, you know. Sometimes I think that's a requirement for getting the green." Amplissa rolls her eyes in agreement. Amplissa is one of the Gerudo who went straight from Red to White and tends to get impatient with the Green and their calmer, more methodical methods. I raise an eyebrow at her. "You still haven't told me where she is." Amplissa makes a disgruntled noise.

"We took bets on who would get back first, you or Neesha."

"And you bet on Neesha?" I ask raising an eyebrow. "Amplissa I'm hurt. I'm crushed. How could you bet on Neesha over me?" Amplissa makes a derisive noise.

"King you might be, Highness, but there are times when you aren't very Gerudo at all. But Neesha is Gerudo through and through. I figured she'd have you beat easily." I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Now why don't you ever tell _her_ these things?" I demand. "When she's here all of you are on her back _all the time_ for not being Gerudo enough, but the instant she's gone you haven't a bad thing to say about her." Amplissa's answer involves raising an eyebrow at me and rolling her eyes.

"Like I said," she answers dully. "There are times when you aren't very Gerudo at all." I open my mouth to explore that further than is perhaps wise, but before I can the door opens suddenly and a slightly out of breath red jerks a hasty bow.

"The other team is back, Highness. You asked to be notified." I draw in a heavy breath, all my previous levity deserting me in a rush. I gesture and the red bows once more before leaving again. I turn to Amplissa.

"Can you—" She's already on her feet.

"I'll find Neesha and send her straight to you," she says. "And make sure you have some privacy." And with that she's out the door and gone. Zelda squeezes me comfortingly around the waist.

"It's never easy, delivering bad news," she says. "I'll take a page from Amplissa's book and leave you two some privacy." I hold her in place for a moment.

"You don't have to go," I tell her. "Hunter's as much your friend as he is ours." She offers me a smile and kisses my cheek.

"There are friends, and then there are the three of you," she says. "Which is a class all its own. I want to speak with Dune anyway." She squeezes my hand once more before climbing gracefully to her feet and heading towards the door. "Good luck." I sigh and settle down further into my chair.

"I'm gonna need it," I grumble.

Not more than two minutes later Neesha bursts into the room, with none of the usual fanfare that accompanies someone coming to see me. Between Neesha and I throwing fits about it the guards eventually gave up even bothering to _try_ to announce Neesha to me. Neither one of us cares.

"What is it?" She demands, then jumps when the red outside the door shuts it. She stares at the closed door for a moment, then slowly turns to face me. "What's wrong? Nobody's telling me anything. Something's gone wrong, hasn't it? Did you get the pendant? You didn't fail, did you?" She makes a face. "You'll never live it down if you did."

"No," I say wryly, "no, we got the pendant." A measure of concern finally cracks through the annoyance on her face.

"Then what…" She looks around and frowns suddenly. "Did Thomas show up?"

"Yes," I confirm. Neesha walks around my chair to get a better look at me and crosses her arms with a frown.

"Well you should have seen it coming, Link."

"What?" I demand, frowning at her. Neesha rolls her eyes.

"When does she _not_ get kidnapped, exactly? I'm starting to think that's what Hylians are _for_." I stare at her incredulously for a moment.

"Neesha what are you talking about?" I demand. Neesha frowns.

"I'm talking about Thomas kidnapping Zelda. That's what he was after, wasn't it? Bel and Mel said—" I stare at her in surprise.

"You saw Bel and Mel? Is everyone all right? Did they say anything?"

"Yeah. A whole lot of nothing. They did say that Thomas was waiting at the Tower of Farore for you guys though. You can ask them yourself if you're that curious."

"Come again?" I demand, raising an eyebrow. She smirks at me.

"I did what Hunter would call 'negotiating' and managed to convince them that what they were doing was stupid." She glances around. "Where is Hunter, anyway? I want to tell him to shut up about me solving everything with a weapon." I rub my face tiredly.

"Neesha … Thomas took Hunter." Her arms fall away from her chest and her eyes narrow into two, glittering little slits.

"He what?" She says, her voice flat and unimpressed.

"It wasn't Zelda Thomas took, it was Hunter. He … well, it wasn't him so much as it was Agahnim. Look, it's a long story. Bel and Mel are here? Right now?"

"Yes. Hunter _lost_ to Thomas? He _lost_? To _Thomas_?"

"It wasn't exactly a fight," I say, getting to my feet. "Look, I'll fill you in on the whole thing later, but right now, we need to go talk to Bel and Mel. Maybe they know where Hunter's been taken."

"So we can go rescue him?"

"No, so we can leave him to rot, Neesha. What the Hell do you _think_ we're going to do?"

***

The emotion in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife and eat. If you did, I think it would taste kind of like misery, and chagrin, and loathing, with just a tiny dash of relief to give it that bitter-sweet flavour.

Bel and Mel sit at one end of a long table, looking for every inch of them like prisoners slated for execution. Impa stands against the wall, peering out the window with her backs to them, looking for every inch like a firing squad. I can't see her face or expression, but if there were any plants to be found in the desert, those outside the window and under her gaze would probably be withering away, not unlike the way Bel and Mel do every time she so much as twitches.

Oh man I am _glad_ I was not on the receiving end of whatever lecture she just gave them. I've been there before, and it's not pretty. Impa doesn't yell and scream, like Rue or Nabooru or Dad, Impa sits there quietly and just looks at you, for a long time, until you're sure she can read every thought in your head. If you're lucky she'll speak to you. Tell you she's disappointed, or angry, or whatever. Tell you that what you did was stupid, or foolhardy, or some other word I often hear in reference to the things I do. You're lucky if she tells you anything. Impa's one of the few people in Hyrule who can actually make Hunter and I feel bad about our antics (Neesha too, not that she'll admit to a Sheikah making her feel ashamed). But when she's really, really angry with you, she doesn't say anything. She stands, like she is now, with her back to you and won't speak. And when she does it'll be to dole out whatever punishment is required, nothing more, and then you'll be excused to go kill yourself, because at that point it seems like your best bet.

And something tells me that Impa is very, _very_ angry with the twins right now.

"The Golden Palace," Bel is saying. "It's Agahnim's HQ. That's where we've been taking the … well, the others. We bring them to Agahnim's quarters and then he and Thomas take them back through these curtains he's got strung up on the wall behind his seat."

"Looks like a throne," Mel mutters angrily. "Stupid bastard couldn't wait to take Zelda's so he built his own."

"There must be a door or something back there, but we never got the chance to look. We weren't allowed back there."

"We weren't even allowed into Agahnim's quarters without his permission, or Thomas. He's got some kind of seal on the entrance that we couldn't get past."

"Physical or magical?" Neesha asks.

"Magic."

"White or black?" I ask.

"Not sure."

"What does it look like?"

"Kind of like lightning, I guess, but you can't even see that until you've walked into it."

"Black lightning," Bel adds.

"And it hurts like a bitch."

"Black," Neesha and I both say flatly, unsurprised.

"That's fine," I say, pulling off my hat long enough to run my hand through my hair. "I can … I can get past that I think, once I've got my sword."

"Does he have any guards?"

"Not really," Bel says. "His chambers are on the top level of the palace. To get there you'd have to go through the whole Palace and all of _its_ guards. Plus, that seal pretty much guarantees his privacy."

"There are ways of skipping the palace and the guards," Impa says. Bel and Mel both cringe away from her. "I can show you where the passages are on a map."

"Much appreciated," I tell her. I pause and hesitate. "Impa, could you … could you go summon the Sages to the War Room? The generals as well. We're going to need to regroup and come up with a new plan of action now that I've got the pendants."

"You have guards for that, Link. And we shouldn't be meeting until your father and the others get back from their trip. They may have helpful information." She pauses. "If you would like to speak with the twins alone, simply ask."

"May we speak with the twins alone?"

"You have fifteen minutes. I am not done with them yet."

And with that she silently leaves the room. Bel and Mel watch her retreating back with identical doomed expressions on their faces. They turn back to Neesha and I once the door falls shut. I offer them a sympathetic look.

"You two all right? You look like death warmed over."

"Working for Agahnim will do that to you," Mel comments, a hint of her old wry grin playing around her mouth. "That guy is death incarnate."

"So," Bel says with a sigh, "dare I ask why you've risked the wrath of Impa to speak with us alone? What can we do for you?" The question, I've no doubt, was meant to be ironic, but came out kind of desperate. They really want to help, to make up for whatever they're blaming themselves for out of this whole mess.

"I want to know what happened."

"You already do," Mel says, puzzled. "They _must_ have filled you in by now. We've only told this story forty times."

"As a matter of fact," I say, "Neesha and I have been busy _avoiding_ everyone. We've got all three pendants now and our plan is more or less to just warp to the Lost Woods before anyone tells us we can't. To accomplish this, we need to not talk to _anyone_ because they're all just _raring_ to tell us we can't, and you know how much I hate to disobey." I smirk at them until they both crack a helpless smile – if a small one, then settle back in my chair. "So if you're not sick of telling it, we'd like to hear it." Bel and Mel both sigh.

"There's … not really much to tell," Bel says. "Most of it you've probably guessed by now."

"Right after you left three months ago, Thomas got his first station, in Castletown. Partly because there was a bit of a gap in the higher levels of information gathering with you, Hunter, and Sheik gone, and partly because he kicked, screamed, and cried until they agreed to let him go. He was happy as a clam, but I think he was a bit lonely."

"Mel and I were still back in Kakariko, after all, and you four were gone off on a mission to God knows where over the mountains. Thomas isn't much of a loner when all is said and done and he's got an attention span of about five seconds."

"And that was about when Agahnim got his hooks into him. He told Thomas that he had a gift for magic, and offered to teach it to him." I sigh.

"And Thomas, of course, was all over that."

"Exactly," Bel confirms. "Here was something he was pretty sure he could be good at, and none of us had already done it first."

"So he agreed. Told the two of us that it would be a good way to keep an eye on Agahnim. Said you seemed to think there was something wrong with him, and that was reason enough to warrant getting close to the old man and finding out what he could. And if he learnt a bit of magic on the side, then who's to complain?"

"Nobody tried to stop him?" Neesha demands. "He just randomly decides to start learning from a black magician and nobody said no?"

" _We_ were the only ones who knew," Mel pointed out. "He made us promise not to tell because he knew his Mum would say no. And it's not like we _knew_ he was a black magic user at the time, now did we?"

"And what he said _did_ make a certain kind of sense. It _would_ be an easy way to find things out about Agahnim, and if Thomas was getting magic lessons out of it, power to him."

"But then the letters stopped …"

"… and people, Thomas included, started going missing."

"When Acqul said that it had been Thomas … we got worried. More than worried. We panicked."

"We knew he'd been studying under Agahnim. All we could think of was every time you, Link, had ever complained that there was something not right about the wizard."

"We couldn't figure how he was doing it. What he had on Thomas that could drive him to do something like kidnap friends."

"So we left the note, and went after him." There's a pause as they both retreat into their own thoughts for a moment. Neither Neesha, nor I say anything.

"Turns out Agahnim wasn't blackmailing him, or threatening him, or anything like what we expected," Mel said quietly at last. Bel shakes her head.

"We never expected for a moment that it would be Thomas we'd have to face. We realized right off the bat that Agahnim must be controlling him through magic—"

"That's the only reason he would have attacked us like he did."

"—and we figured it would be a piece of cake to take him out and drag him back to Kakariko for the Sages to fix if they could."

"But it wasn't."

"Nope," Bel agreed. "It sure wasn't. Together we used to be able to drop Thomas in ten seconds, flat. But this time?"

"We lasted about thirty seconds, at which point Agahnim showed up and it was game over."

"He took us prisoner, had Thomas tie us up, and ordered him to kill us." They both have a faraway look in their eyes.

"He was going to do it, too," Mel said quietly. "He was ready to kill us. Had his sword up and everything. But …"

"Something stopped him," Bel finished. "He looked at us for a minute, then turned to Agahnim and asked if he could keep us alive. Said he needed help if he was going to capture everyone Agahnim wanted."

"So … Agahnim let us go, but told us that Thomas was responsible for us now. He said that if we failed him, or betrayed him in any way, it would be Thomas who would pay the price. And then we would."

"We didn't … we didn't believe him at first," Bel said thickly, rubbing her eyes. "We tried to send a letter off to our Dad, but Agahnim found out. He had Thomas drag us to his chambers and he … he used his magic on Thomas." Her voice dies off and Mel is forced to pick up the story.

"He could have … he didn't kill him – he was only making the point that he would – but it very nearly did. He wouldn't even give us any potions for him. Not at first. We … watched over him for two days, and we weren't even sure he was going to make it. Not without help. On the second day Agahnim came back to us with a bottle of potion. Enough to save Thomas' life. He made us … we had to swear fealty to him in exchange for it, and he said this would be the last time he offered us mercy of this sort. The next time, he said, Thomas _would_ die, and then we would." Bel's face twists in disgust.

"Said we could discuss amongst the two of us which one would go first." She shakes her head. "What were we _supposed_ to do, exactly? We were … _terrified_! Not for ourselves, but for Thomas! I mean … I know there's no excuse, but … he was our best friend. Ever since … ever since we were little. We couldn't just … we couldn't just _leave_ him there. He needed … he needed help. He couldn't even … with the control Agahnim has on him, Agahnim could tell him to throw himself off a cliff and Thomas would. And he had proven that he meant business."

"So you gave up?" Neesha demands.

"Hardly," Mel scoffs. "We tried everything we could think of to break the spell, but none of it worked. We even tried our original plan again – knock him over the head really hard and drag him back to Kakariko – once we were out of the palace and away from Agahnim, but …"

"But Agahnim is apparently in constant contact with Thomas, and he knew as soon as we tried. He can … he did the same thing as last time, from a distance. We were … we were on our way to get Saria then. Agahnim told us, through Thomas, that if we didn't make up for our attempted betrayal by getting Saria on our own, he would kill Thomas before the sun rose."

"So we went into Kokiri's Forest. Saria was in her house, so we snuck in. We … fought with her … sort of. She may be just a kid, but she's still a sage, and she was doing her best to hold us back, but when … when we told her about Thomas … about what would happen if we didn't get her back to Agahnim before the sun rose …" I cover my face with my hands for a moment.

"She went willingly," I sigh. "She's always been a sucker for pathetic boys in impossible situations." I look back up. "Her fairy …?"

"She wouldn't let him come with her. Told him to stay in the forest and watch over the Kokiri in her absence. Swore him to secrecy about Bel and I so our secret wouldn't be ruined and put Thomas in more danger. As far as I know he's still in the forest."

"She was probably betting on Impa and Nabooru being able to get to her in time to stop whatever Agahnim wanted her for, but he was ready for her, and understood the danger Impa and Nabooru represented. He took her, faster than he took the others, and he and Thomas disappeared behind that curtain. From the way I understand it, whatever they did in there, they did it fast. Nabooru and Impa didn't have a hope in hell of getting there in time, and they weren't exactly sleeping on the job."

"But why?" Neesha demands. " _Why_ is Agahnim doing this?" Mel shrugs helplessly.

"We don't know," she says. "We weren't under his control, he was careful not to tell us anything except who he wanted kidnapped."

"And who else besides—"

"Link!" I twist around in my seat to look at the door. Nabooru's stuck her head around it. "How much longer are you going to be?"

"Not much, why?"

"We need to figure out how we're going to get your sword back. This much we can do without Rue and the others."

"Fine, fine, whatever. I'll be out soon." She nods and slips out again, closing the door after her. I get to my feet with an annoyed grumble.

"Well there goes our chance of doing this covertly."

"What?" Neesha demands. "You're changing your mind? You _want_ to discuss it with them?"

"Hardly," I respond. "They'll just slow me down and insist I take other people. Not much point in _that_ now is there?" I turn back to Bel and Mel. "I'll have to take a rain check on the rest of this story. Sorry to turn you back over to Impa so soon, but time is of the essence in this situation." I pause and study them for a minute. "I'm not going to lie to you. What you did was stupid, foolhardy, and reckless. You jeopardized more than you're aware of, and you've put a lot of people – a lot of _civilians_ – directly into the line of fire." They both nod silently, taking this easier than they would have before I left for that damn mission. "But to tell you the truth, I can't say I wouldn't have done the exact same thing in your position – in fact I believe I have once or twice. As far as I'm concerned you can consider yourself forgiven on my end." I wink at them. "So cheer up. We'll get Thomas back, and all the rest of them too. Just have a bit of faith." I pull my Ocarina out of my pouch and Neesha lays her hand on my back. "There's about thirty seconds until Nabooru sticks her head in here and demands to know what's taking me. Let her know that if she wants to discuss my plan to get my sword back, she can meet me at the Forest Temple. Otherwise, just send an escort to the Spirit Temple for when we get back."

A few notes later, the Fortress disappears in a whirl of soft green. Neesha's hand has just enough time to tighten reflexively on my tunic before the swirl of color fades away and is replaced with the familiar sight of Saria's special place.

I feel a brief twinge of something akin to homesickness. A brief, painful awareness of two very important, very empty places inside me where Saria and Navi used to be. Navi's spot is an old wound at least. It twinges, it hurts, but I've learned to deal with it. Saria's is fresh, and catches me by surprise. It's easy to get distracted in times like this, and it's not always a bad thing. Sometimes distractions can actually help you to stay focused by preventing you from dwelling on things that are said and done by keeping your attention on what's left to do.

But every now and then something slips through and you suddenly find yourself caught by surprise by just how badly you've actually taken something, you thought you had taken quite well.

Neesha, mercifully, remains quiet and gives me a moment to catch my breath and my bearings. She may not entirely understand how Hunter and I can be assign such significance to little things, and be affected in such a large way by them, but she's learned to recognize the signs and is willing to give us that space, if only for a little bit. As with all things, Gerudo deal with their emotions in a different way than most.

"All right," I say, after a moment. "Let's go."

"Yes," says a quiet voice from behind me. "Let's." I wince and turn around.

"Hullo Impa," I say. "And what brings you to the Lost Woods?" There's a blue swirl behind her and the next instant Ruto is standing there as well, looking terribly unimpressed, as always. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my favourite lady. What can I do for you girls?"

"You," Impa says flatly, "are as reckless and undisciplined as the twins."

"I try," I admit. I throw them a wary look. "I'm not going back without the Master Sword, so you may as well not even bother." Ruto smiles wryly.

"We assumed as much," she said. "We're not here to drag you back, we're here to accompany you. In case something goes wrong, or the pendants don't work, or Agahnim's left some form of trap."

"Are any of the others coming?" Impa shakes her head.

"Zelda wanted to, but I don't want her leaving the desert, and the Gerudo scouts claim to have seen an approaching party, so Nabooru and Darunia are waiting to see if it's Brayden and the others."

"Wow," I say, "you actually got Nabooru to leave me alone, I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Impa says flatly. "She'll be waiting for you at the Spirit Temple with the Elite in tow." She raises a grey eyebrow at me. "You're not off the hook yet." I give her a wide smirk.

"The key word being _yet_ ," I say glibly as I turn and head towards the Lost Woods. A cool, friendly breeze slides in and around us, and I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying the simplicity of it.

Depressing holes in my heart aside, I can almost believe that things are going our way …

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

He watched with an impassive stare as a pack of Gerudo on horseback cantered through the large gates that protected Gerudo Fortress from the desert predators beyond. Silky white uniforms adorned each woman, and every lock of hair in the group was cut short. The King's Elite. Headed out to the Spirit Temple, no doubt.

Which meant that the King had left via Ocarina, and would return soon.

Gone to get his precious Master Sword.

 _Master_ , Thomas intoned inwardly, _I don't understand. Why are we just_ letting _him go get the sword? With it, he can …_

 _With it,_ Agahnim's disembodied voice snapped in his head, _he is no more dangerous to our cause than a snowflake in the desert._

 _He means to kill you,_ Thomas said bluntly.

 _And so he will,_ Agahnim agreed amiably. _I have foreseen it. But death … death is not always an ending. The Hero_ will _kill me, but I will not be the only one to cross over. Mark my words._

_I don't understand…_

_You are not meant to,_ Agahnim said, his voice oddly soothing. _Do not trouble over it. Fulfill your final task, Thomas, and you will please me greatly. Fulfill your final task, Thomas, you will please_ Ganon _greatly. Do not let me down again, boy._

 _I won't, Master._ Thomas once again turned his attention to the dune coloured fortress and the presence in the back of his mind receded. His eyes narrowed as he released the magic concealing his presence.

The Seventh Sage's time was up.

***

Nabooru's head snapped up and she twisted in her seat to narrow her eyes out the window.

"Nabooru?" Darunia asked, looking mildly amused. "It's not like you to take such an interest in trade negotiations. Is there something about the tariffs imposed on bomb flowers that …" Zelda waved a hand at him to quiet him.

"Nabooru?" She asked. The Sage of Spirit hadn't moved a muscle save those controlling her eyes. They moved back and forth swiftly, as though searching for something. "Nabooru, what is it?"

"Black," she murmured. "It tastes black …" Her face twisted suddenly into an animal snarl and she straightened. "Agahnim!" She growled. In the same breath she was on her feet and running at full tilt for the door. Zelda and Darunia exchanged a surprised look and got to their feet to run after her.

"Elite!" Nabooru was screaming as she ran. "Elite! To me! Now!" It didn't take long. The next instant several women in white had joined their little party, surrounding Nabooru on all sides. Nabooru's pace didn't slow. "Sciarra, my scimitars! Aliza, scramble the red! Send twenty to the Spirit Temple to aid the White. The King will be there soon, and I won't have his safety compromised if this is some kind of two-pronged attack." Two women peeled off down opposite corridors at her command.

"What—" Before the third women could finish her question the frantic clang of a bell cut through the air, and a moment later a frantic shout accompanied it.

"MOBLINS!" Someone was shouting from down the hallway. "MOBLINS!" Nabooru swore violently.

"Be on your guard," she said. "Moblins aren't the only thing we've got to worry about. There's something else skulking around. Something black. Might even be Agahnim himself."

"If it is?"

"Take him alive," Nabooru said flatly. "Take him near-death, take him dying, I don't care. Just take him alive. He is the King's Black Mark, but I'll be damned if I let him get away."

"And the Moblins?"

"Destroy them. Has there been any sight of Rue?"

"She's on her way."

"Send a Purple. Tell her to get her ass in gear. We need her magic. Her apprentices?"

"One, maybe two are ready for this."

"Give me four. Last resort. Put them behind the Purple Archers on the walls."

"Done."

"The rest of you, suit up. And keep your eyes open. If you find the source of the black I'm sensing, find me and tell me. Me and the Sages will take care of it." The rest of the Elite left with an affirmative shout and split up at the next turn, leaving Nabooru, Zelda, Darunia, and two Elite left to explode out the door and into the grey daylight.

"Goddess damned clouds," Nabooru snarled. "That's going to give them cover. Goddess damned rainy season!" She bolted over to one of many ladders set against the outside walls of the fortress and scrambled up it. Zelda and Darunia weren't far behind her.

"Nabooru, what is it?" Zelda demanded, doing her best not to pant after their frantic run. She felt momentarily annoyed that Nabooru hadn't even broken a sweat, but quickly quashed it.

"I don't know," Nabooru said. "There's a black spirit here somewhere, though. It just … appeared."

"Is it Agahnim?" Darunia demanded. Nabooru thought for a moment, eyes scanning the horizon, upon which a thin black line was visible. She briefly wondered if the Elite she'd sent to meet the King had even made it past the Moblins. There were so many of them – more than usual. Moblin attacks and raids were not out of the ordinary for the Fortress – without a power to rule them, the Moblins turned into little better than scavengers and raiders. Forming their own little groups out in the desert and living off what they could scrounge up or steal – but for this many to unite …

"No," she said finally, turning back to Zelda. "No, it's not. The presence would be stronger. Blacker. It would taste worse." Zelda and Darunia nodded, well used to Nabooru's sometimes odd descriptions of her powers. Her 'sense' translated into taste – or at least she claimed that's what it was like – and it generally wasn't wrong. "Zelda, is Link—"

"Fine," Zelda answered instantly. "Hard to tell at this distance, but I'd say the worst he's going through right now is a bit of melancholy. The Lost Woods hold a lot of memories for him, and not all of them are good. That's all." Nabooru nodded.

"Good," she said. "Good. Well … at least he's not here to rush in there and get himself killed."

"Nabooru! What's going on?" All three of them turned to look as Acqul and Dune scrambled up the ladder.

"Moblin attack," Nabooru answered.

"I thought those were pretty routine. What's with the panic?" Acqul demanded.

"Not sure," Nabooru answered truthfully, "but there's something different this time. Something with Agahnim's stench all over it. Figured better safe than sorry." She frowned darkly. "But what if the Moblins are a diversion?"

"Where are Bel and Mel?" Dune demanded. "Will they be all right?" Nabooru muttered an oath under her breath.

"I forgot about them. They're still in the questioning rooms. Those aren't secured right now."

"I'll get them," Zelda offered, then, before anyone could protest: "I'm faster than all of you in Sheik form. I'll relocate them and be back before you know it."

"All right," Nabooru acceded. "Take them to the nursery. That's the safest place to be during these things." She flashed them all a grin. "We may not have many children, but we take care of them when we do." Zelda nodded. A moment later there was a flash and a young Sheikan man stood where she had stood and the next instant he was gone, scrambling down the ladder and running back through the fortress hallways.

She dodged the rushing Gerudo – a scrambling rainbow of purple, green, red and white – and ran against the flow, heading deeper into the Fortress towards the room where she remembered Bel and Mel to be held. She was just starting to wonder whether she really should have left the task to someone who knew the fortress better, when she finally spotted the door to the room.

Lost or not, she knew she wouldn't have left it to the Gerudo. She was trying her hardest not to be judgemental of the Gerudo, but somehow, given the state the twins were in, she didn't much feel like handing them over to some cold-hearted, merciless Gerudo for safe-keeping. That just seemed cruel.

She ripped open the bolt on the door, threw wide the door and leapt in.

"Bel! Mel!" She shouted. The twins, already on their feet, eyes wide in surprise, stared at her.

"Sheik!" Bel gasped.

"What's going on?" Mel demanded. "We heard shouting!"

"Moblin attack," Sheik said. "And … well, we're not sure what else, but Nabooru's sensed some dark spirit in the area."

"Where?"

"She can't pinpoint like that without actively searching for it, and right now she's busy with the Moblins on their way to beat down the doors."

"Thomas," Mel breathed. "Oh Bel, it's Thomas!"

"Sheik," Bel said hurriedly, "you have to get out of here. Go back to the Sages."

"What?" Sheik demanded straitening. "Why? What about Thomas? You think the Dark Spirit is Thomas?"

"It might be!" Mel said. "We can't be sure, but Sheik, listen to us, he's after you! You and Neesha! If it's him, he'll be looking for you!"

"What?" Sheik demanded. "Neesha? I knew he was after me, but why—" Before he could finish his sentence something slammed into him from behind and he was sent sprawling forward onto the floor.

"Thomas! NO!"

"I _knew_ it!"

Before anyone said anything else Sheik had twisted like a cat and was on his feet and facing the door, arms up and legs apart in a fighting stance. His crimson eyes narrowed at the figure with the dead eyes in the doorway.

"Where's Hunter?" He snarled, but Thomas wasn't wasting any time on words. He dove straight for Sheik.

"MEL!" Bel shrieked, throwing herself forward, "GET HELP!"

"But—" Bel's elbow slammed into Thomas's back and forced him to refocus his attention before he could get to Zelda.

"DO IT!"

Mel whirled on her heel and bolted hell for leather out the door and down the hallway, leaving her sister and her friend to their own devices against Thomas. The sound of battle and screaming led her back to the outside of the fortress, and it didn't take her long to pinpoint help. It was on top of one of the roofs, screaming orders at the women below her. A volley of arrows arched their way overhead, blanketing the sky for a moment before disappearing outside the gates.

"NABOORU!" She screamed, cutting through the Gerudo and running for the ladder. "NABOORU! HELP!" Before she could get to the ladder, however, two Gerudo in Red cut her off.

"You!" Shouted one. "You're a prisoner! How did you—!"

"Mel! What is it?" Shouted a familiar voice. Mel redirected her attention upwards and met Dune's concerned face. "I thought you were supposed to be—"

"Dune!" Mel shrieked. "Come quick! It's Thomas!" Dune's face went ashen.

"What?" The word was lost in the clamour around them, but Mel could read it on her lips.

"Thomas! It's Thomas! He's after Zelda! Please! We have to hurry!" Dune's eyes widened and she suddenly leapt into action, whirling around.

"Nabooru!" She shouted. "Darunia! Acqul!" All three turned to face her. She gestured.

"It's Thomas!"

***

"Sheik! Get out!" Bel snarled, ducking under a swipe of Thomas' longsword and countering with an open-palm strike at his gut. He twisted out of the way at the last minute.

"And leave you here?" Sheik demanded, moving in to fill in the gap where Thomas had been and launching her own attack. "Nothing doing!"

"You can't take him!" Bel cried, leaping up onto a chair to avoid another of Thomas' swipes.

"Neither can you!" Sheik replied, growling in frustration when Thomas dodged her swing, but otherwise ignored her. For someone who was apparently trying to kidnap her, he wasn't paying much attention to her.

Not that he really could. If he so much as turned his back on Bel she was on him, jabbing, punching, kicking. She wasn't leaving him much of a choice but to focus on her.

Bel moved to lung forward off the chair, but Thomas lashed out suddenly with a foot, nailing the leg of the chair and sending it skittering backwards. Bel cried out in surprise and lost her balance, tipping forward. Thomas smiled humourlessly and raised his sword. At the last instant, Bel twisted, but it wasn't enough to avoid the blade completely. The longsword tore savagely through her side and sent the Sheikah toppling to the ground with a sudden cry, clutching her side. Thomas turned without missing a beat back to Sheik, who had paused to stare in horror at Bel.

The next instant, the hilt of his sword slammed hard into Sheik's stomach and the crimson-eyed boy doubled-over.

***

Several things slammed violently into place in Dune's mind when it finally processed the scene playing out before her.

First, Thomas was before her, alive and well. Her son was there, within her reach. She could run to him right now and take him in her arms like she used to when he was five years old and had skinned his knee playing with Hunter.

Second, the reason Hunter and so many others weren't here right now to watch this scene along with her was because Agahnim had control of her son's mind and body and he was little more than a useless puppet in a macabre show played out by the Wizard through other people's lives.

Third, Thomas had his sword raised over Sheik's form, hilt down, and was preparing to knock him out and do Din knew what with him.

Sheik, who was Zelda, who was the Princess of Hyrule.

And lastly, she had arrived first of all the others, a mother's concern lending wings to her heels. Responsibility for the outcome of this little scene was hers.

Thomas was raising his hand against a Princess of Hyrule, and by extension against Hyrule itself.

Mind control or no, mother's love or no, that could not be allowed.

Not by a Sheikah.

The responsibility was hers.

"Thomas!" She cried, even as she was pulling a hand crossbow from it's loop on her belt. "Thomas! Put him down!" Thomas spared her only a glance from the corner of his eye, brief and without recognition, before turning back to Sheik, who was starting to straighten. Dune's hand trembled as she raised the loaded crossbow.

 _This_ , she told herself, _is no different than smacking his hand when he was in the cookie jar. Only the stakes are bigger._ She fired the first bolt. It sped from her crossbow even as she was moving to load it again and ripped through Thomas' sword arm.

Thomas, she couldn't help but observe, had never bled because she'd smacked him.

"Dune!" Sheik gasped, straightening at last as Thomas stumbled away a step, staring up at Dune in surprise. Dune raised the crossbow again.

"Step back, Thomas. Don't make me shoot you again." Thomas' eyes narrowed and he raised his hand and spoke a word, but Dune had spent enough time around Rue to recognize a spell when she saw one and was able to throw herself to the side and dodge the blackness that rose from the floor to grab her. She fired her crossbow again as she moved, aiming for the same spot. Thomas spun to avoid it, but the quarrel sank into his side instead. His face twisted into a snarl and he took a step towards her, but stopped suddenly, his face twisting at some inner conflict. The next second, he whirled on his heel, and scooped up his sword, face hardening in determination. He turned to Sheik again, who was hastily moving around the table to get closer to Dune.

"The next bolt is for keeps, Thomas," Dune said flatly. "Stay away from the Princess."

"Dune …" Sheik murmured. "Dune, don't … not for me…"

"Get back Thomas!" Dune shouted as Thomas ignored her and took another step towards Sheik. "I mean it!" Thomas threw her another sidelong glance, calculating his odds. Dune had proven her aim was true with the crossbow, but her hands were shaking and she had to brace the crossbow with both of them. The resolve on her face looked shaky at best. "Thomas …" Dune said warningly.

In answer, Thomas lunged forward, jumping up onto the table and heading straight for Sheik.

The first rule of parenting, Dune knew, was to love your children unconditionally and make sure they knew that.

The second was to always follow through on whatever promises and threats you had made to them, no matter how much it may pain you at the time.

Dune had never failed to do either with her children.

And this time was no exception.

She made a noise that was dangerously close to a sob and took aim, pulling the trigger on the little crossbow and felt something inside her scream at the outrage as she did so.

But that inward scream was cut short as a light blue blur came streaking around from behind her and slammed into her crossbow, sending the bolt wild, to embed harmlessly into a wall. The blue streak sailed around behind her again and the next instant something had her by the back of her uniform and was ripping her to the side. She stumbled out of the middle of the hallway and Nabooru rushed by her, already starting to pulse with power.

"Dune!" Gasped a shaky voice. "What are you doing? You could have killed him!" Dune stared at the Zoran General in shock.

"Acqul?" She demanded, her knees feeling weak. "You stopped …" She straightened abruptly. "Zelda!" She gasped. "He's after Zelda!"

A startled scream rang out from the room and Dune and Acqul both whipped around to face it.

"Thomas!"

***

The pain was sudden and intense, and the force of it ripped Thomas – halfway through his lunge down at Sheik – out of his current trajectory and sent him slamming into the wall. Before him stood a tall Gerudo dressed in white, long red ponytail whipping around furiously in the force of power surrounding her. Her eyes were nearly incandescent with it. She had a hand held out, palm facing him and her face was set into a frown.

"Give him back, you rat," she snarled. "He's not yours."

The vile presence at the back of his mind pulled on him, the opposite of the way the Gerudo in white was pulling on him. That, he realized, was why it hurt. He was being pulled in two different directions.

 _Let go!_ Screamed the little voice inside him. _Let go of me! You don't need me anymore! Just let me go!_ There was a vague feeling of amusement from the vile presence.

 _Let you go? Are you certain little one?_ Thomas blinked in surprise through the pain. The Wizard had never acknowledged the little voice before. He hadn't even been aware the Wizard knew it was there.

And then he realized, with no small amount of shock, that it hadn't been the little voice speaking.

It had been him.

"Yes!" He gasped. "Yes! I'm sure! Let me go!"

_As you wish …_

***

With one last, final scream, Nabooru felt something snap inside of Thomas and she just prayed it was Agahnim's control. She loosened her metaphysical grip on the boy and he staggered away from the wall and took in a shuddering breath. When his eyes opened, they were frightened, unsure, and filled to the brim with regret and relief – but they weren't dead. The next instant they fell shut again and he toppled forward.

"That," Nabooru murmured uneasily, watching as he struck the ground, "was entirely too easy." There was a small gasp from beside her, but before she could react, Sheik – changing into Zelda as he ran – bolted forward to the boy's side. "Zelda, no! There may be other—Farore!" Before Nabooru could finish her warning an inky black shape erupted from Thomas' prone form. Zelda gasped and abruptly tried to reverse direction, but it was too late. "ZELDA!" Nabooru leapt forward, but she was too far.

The black form dove at Zelda just as fast as it had leapt from Thomas. The Princess raised her arms but it passed right through them and disappeared as soon as it hit her body. Nabooru hastily called her power back to her, determined to do to Zelda what she'd just done to Thomas, but the next instant there was a bright flash and when it faded, the Princess Zelda was gone. Nabooru stared with wide eyes at the spot where Zelda had been. She reached out with her senses and was horrified to find that Zelda was nowhere within range.

"Nabooru! What's happened?" Darunia barged into the room and stared around in puzzlement. "Where's—"

"Thomas!" Dune was on her knees beside her son before anyone could so much as blink, and Nabooru winced, waiting for another black cloud, but there was none. Apparently Agahnim had what he wanted. She turned back to Darunia as Mel came through the door and ran to her sister's side.

"We've got trouble, Darunia," she said. "Big trouble."

***

##  **Chapter 9 (cont.)**

"Are you sure there's a barrier here?" Neesha asks, making a face. I look expectantly at Impa and Ruto. Impa nods.

"Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there," she says. "I've warned you about underestimating such things before."

"You've warned us about a lot of things before," I point out. "So many things it's hard to remember them all." I reach down into my tunic and pull out the Pendant of Courage and the Pendant of Wisdom, both of which have been dangling around my neck since the Tower of Farore. Neesha pulls the Pendant of Power off of her neck and hands it to me as well. I slip it on. "I am so going to get fried when I step in there," I grumble. Neesha frowns.

"Maybe I should go first," she says. "Just in case."

"That's Nabooru talking," I say flatly. "And I'm not here in King capacity, I'm here in Hero of Time capacity. It's my sword, I'll do it." Neesha nods, satisfied, if not content with that. I straighten the pendants out around my neck and throw an uncertain glance back at Nabooru and Ruto. "You're, uh … ready for anything, right? Like … if I step in there and it blows up …"

"Dibs on not telling Nabooru that Link got himself blown up!" Neesha says brightly.

"Me too!" Ruto chimes in. "Looks like it'll be you, Impa." Impa rolls her eyes.

"Yes, Link, we're ready," she says. "Just go." I nod and start forward. The sun glints off the hilt of the Master Sword, so tantalizingly close it's practically killing me. The blade gleams eagerly at my approach, but I force myself to move slowly, just in case. The pendants grow warm suddenly and begin to glow faintly and it suddenly gets harder to move forward. There's something here blocking my way. I growl at it and push forward anyway.

"If you think you're keeping me out now," I tell it darkly, "you've got another think coming. I've got the damn pendants, let me pass!" I strain as the force pushing me out gets bigger, but the pendants flash in response and I keep moving. Sooner or later something'll give.

I just hope it's not me.

The next instant my prediction comes true, as the pendants flash defiantly and I feel the barrier shatter all around me. I stumble forward and just barely manage to keep from doing a face dive onto the soft grass under my feet.

"You did it!" Cheers the Deku Tree Scrub, face bright and happy, as per usual. "Thank Nayru! It's been so lonely here with that barrier up. The poor little Kokiri couldn't even get through it, and here I am stuck on the other side." It looks offended for a moment. "You know we've had to shout across at each other for months?" I throw him a smirk.

"Glad I could help," I say. "Least I could do for taking such good care of my sword." It offers me one of those smiles it gets sometimes that suggest it's already wiser than it sometimes leads you to think. The one that makes it look a little bit more like the Great Deku Tree.

"Anything for the Hero of Time," it says.

"Link? Is it safe to come across?" Ruto calls. I turn around and notice that Neesha is already making her way over, completely uncaring as to whether or not it's safe yet.

"It's fine! I broke it! Whatever it was," I add, then shrug and turn around and survey the one thing that I've been waiting for for the last three months. For a brief moment, the back of my left hand burns fiercely and the Master Sword almost seems to shine in response. I move over to the pedestal, just a simple plaque really set into the middle of the Deku Tree's glade, and study my sword for a moment. I smirk down at it.

"I hope you burnt Agahnim good when he tried to move you." I reach down and grab the sword, fingers instinctively wrapping around and forming to the hilt, then pull it up in a motion more familiar to me than breathing somehow.

You know … there's something thrilling in the sound of a sword clearing its sheath. Some indefinable something in the sound that makes your heart leap, and your gut clench, and sets every nerve in your body to tingling. You can tell more from that sound than you can from the fight itself. Intentions can be hidden behind feints and bluffs, emotions can be mimicked or denied through discipline and pattern, moves and actions can be disguised as other moves and actions which leave you unaware. But that first metallic _shing_ … that's what tells you everything you'll ever need to know, about yourself and about your opponent.

Is it a ring or a hiss?

Does it snarl along the edge or does it whisper from its casing?

Is it honest?

That's an odd thought, I suppose, that a sound – let alone a sound associated with a weapon – can be honest, but I hold to it, and as I pull the Master Sword up and out of its pedestal, and that metallic singing rings in my head and the world turns to blue around me for that single, eternal instant it makes perfect sense.

The sound is honest.

This sword is honest.

In a world gone crazy, this much at least I can trust.

Like an old friend.

The blue fades and the Deku Tree Glade reappears and I am grinning from ear to ear as I slide the Master Sword easily back into its sheath – once again located right where it should be on my back.

Oh man, I didn't even know how badly I'd missed it.

I turn around, still grinning, to face the others as they approach.

"All right, guys!" I say. "We've got what we came for. Let's get back to the desert so you can all busy yourselves telling me exactly how the next part of saving Hyrule is going to play out and I can busy myself by ignoring you."

"You have a very smart-mouth sometimes, you know that?" Ruto demands.

"Sometimes?" I ask, throwing her a wink. "I'd say it's more like—"

The desperation and suddenness of the mental call is enough to drive any and all other thoughts out of my brain. It's Zelda, and whatever it is, it's urgent.

"Link?" Impa asks, staring at me curiously. "What is it?"

"Zelda. Just a sec," I manage, and open myself up to her, giving in to her insistent tugging. The glade disappears and is replaced with the monochrome walls of the Temple of Time. I shiver in the suddenly cold air. Winter may not touch the Lost Woods, but it's all over Castletown, and the Temple of Time doesn't exactly have a fireplace making it all warm and cheery.

"Zelda?" I call, casting a glance around. "Zelda? What's wrong?" I turn around and peer behind me, then frown in puzzlement. She's not here. I turn around again. "Zel—"

The pain that erupts from my back is both unexpected and unwelcome. Pain and danger are foreign thoughts here. I stagger forward a step, turning around with an effort to locate the source of the attack as blood starts to seep down my back – any comfort I might have derived from its warmth ruined by it's source.

Before my brain is willing to register said source, however, she's come up close enough to kiss me and has driven her blood stained knife into my stomach as well. I gasp and my knees go weak – nothing but her support keeping me upright.

"Zelda …" I manage. "Zelda, what are you—" But then she looks at me, and I see her eyes.

Not bright blue – serious and earnest and thoughtful – but dull blue – dead and empty, void of thought or emotion.

"Agahnim!" It comes out as an angry hiss, and Zelda lets out a bright peal of laughter – sounding at once like her voice and not like her voice – and steps back from me, letting me fall weakly to my hands and knees. "You _snake_!" I try to push myself to my knees and fail.

"Hmm," Zelda's mouth says, sounding amused. "Clever boy to have figured me out so quickly." I press a fist against the wound in my gut and struggle to get up.

"Let her go," I snarl, glaring at the figure with the blood stained white gloves. "You son of a bitch, _let her go!_ " Zelda's hand makes a dismissive gesture.

"Oh relax, boy," she says. "I won't be able to hold her long. Her will is far too strong for that. I just needed her temporarily."

It's suddenly very hard to breathe. How? How did this happen? How did he get her? She should be safe and sound, tucked away in the desert. How did he get his filthy claws on her? I clench my teeth as rage pounds through me and use the adrenaline it provides to get up to my knees at last. My back and stomach scream at the exertion but I ignore it.

"Give her back." I clench my fists. "Give them all back! What have you done with them?" Zelda's face twists into a cruel little smirk I've never seen before. It makes her look ugly.

"Well," her mouth says, "if you want to know that, you'll have to come and get me, won't you? I tell you what, _Hero_ ," he snaps the title like an insult, "you want her that badly? I'll give you a fighting chance. I won't do away with her just yet, like I have the others. I'll wait for you. Then you can _see_ what I'm doing with—" Zelda's face contorts for a moment and when the eyes open again, they're Zelda's eyes.

"Link!" She gasps. "Link! Don't listen! He's trying to—" She gasps and her face contorts again and when the eyes open they're dead once more.

"Zelda!" I call, struggling to my feet. "Dammit!"

"Ah," Agahnim says through her mouth. "As I said, her will is very strong, and I can't hold her back much longer. Come for her if you dare, Hero, I'll wait. I'm sure I can find things to keep she and I entertained in the meantime. There's more than one way to skin a sage after all."

"You bastard," I snarl, gaining my feet at last. "Don't you touch her! _Don't you dare!_ " Zelda laughs again, and the sound sends a chill running up and down my spine.

"I'll do as I please, you silly boy." She holds out her hands and the air around me is suffused with pink for half a second before I'm sent flying violently through the air, to smash hard into the altar. My vision goes black for a second and it takes me a long time to be able to catch my breath. I lose my grip on the altar and crash down into the floor, unable to get back to my feet. "Come for her, Hero. Or don't, as you please. I win either way." Her blurry form disappears entirely, leaving me with nothing but that eerie not-Zelda laugh as the cool marble of the Temple of Time fades and the panicked face of everybody's-favourite-Gerudo-teenager replaces it.

"Link!" Neesha's gasping. "What the Hell? You're bleeding! _What_ the _Hell_?"

The only I answer I managed to give is a weak, "Zelda …" before I lose my tenuous grip on consciousness at last and can feel myself slide into the waiting blackness.


	10. I Know What the Dark World Is

#  **Chapter 10 and Interludes**

_How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees._

—William Shakespeare—

_It is a mistake to try to look too far ahead. The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at a time._

—Sir Winston Churchill—

##  **Chapter 10**

To tell you the truth, I don't "come to" so much as I stumble groggily back into consciousness, feeling more or less like a wagon full of thick, wool blankets has fallen on me – only the wagon landed first.

"Farore," I groan, raising a hand to my head and wincing. "What the Hell?"

"That's my boy," comments a wry voice to my side. "First word on his lips always has been and always will be an oath."

"Big words from an old man," I mutter, rubbing my face in a vain attempt at working some feeling back into it. "I learnt it from you, you know."

"Bah," he says, "you did not. You've been swearing since I came back three years ago."

"I've been swearing a lot longer than that, Dad. Somehow I doubt I picked it up off the Great Deku – agh! Farore!" I clutch my gut and shut my eyes tightly – apparently rolling over is a bad idea. "Someone wanna tell me why I'm still in pain?"

"Nabooru figured if you were able to walk around, you'd freak out and take off, straight for Castletown."

And with that simple statement, I remember exactly _why_ it is I am in pain in the first place. I can feel my face darken suddenly.

"She'd be right," I answer. "So I'm assuming there'll be no healing potions for me until I promise to be a good little boy?"

"No offence, Link, but you're a bit of a weasel when it comes to promises—"

"Learnt that from you too," I point out.

"—and there won't be any healing potions for you until we've figured out the best strategy to deal with the current situation."

"And in the meantime Hunter and the others sit wherever it is Agahnim's sent them – assuming they're even _alive_ – and Zelda sits in the Golden Palace's dungeons having _Din knows what_ done to her until such a time as I decide to show my face long enough to rip out Agahnim's throat."

"Link …" His voice trails off and he starts again. "Link, listen. Before you start getting all self-righteous on us and thinking you're the only one who cares about the people in Agahnim's clutches, you stop yourself and remember that the rest of us have just as much reason to be upset over this as you do – maybe even more." I mumble my response into my pillow. Dad raises an eyebrow at me.

"I said you didn't get stabbed twice in a row by the possessed body of your girlfriend, now did you?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Excuse me if I'm just a bit upset by that."

"And by upset you mean insane with rage."

"And by upset I mean insane with rage," I agree.

"And _that_ is why we're doing our damndest to keep you bed ridden until we come up with a plan for attacking Agahnim. A _coherent_ plan," he adds, cutting me off before I can speak. "One that's got just a few more steps than go to Castletown, kill Agahnim, save Hyrule, all right?" I glare flatly at him and say nothing. He sighs. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I'm having some ethical issues with denying you healing, but on the other hand, you sort of have a track record, and Nabooru's right. A little pain now will save you a lot more later." For a moment there's silence as he sits there and feels guilty and I glare at him to make it worse. "You've got a real bad habit of shooting the messenger, you know?"

"Sometimes the messenger deserves to be shot."

"Link."

"Sorry," I grumble. "Didn't mean it like that. You'll forgive me if I'm a bit cranky." He cocks his head to the side.

"So, uh … so I'm going to assume that Agahnim managed to get access to Zelda's powers." I sigh and nod.

"I felt her contacting me in the Woods. She felt … I dunno, adamant I guess. I assumed it was an emergency and I let her in. Only it wasn't her."

"I take it he didn't exactly play nice."

"Stabbed me twice and used her powers to slam me off the altar."

"Altar?"

"Temple of Time," I say. "That's where this place is. If you can call it a place. I guess it's more of a non-place, but anyway, metaphysics and whatever else that might fall under isn't exactly my thing. It looks and feels and sounds like the Temple of Time, and that's what matters."

"What did he say?" I hesitate.

"He said … he told me he wouldn't make off with her right away. Said he'd wait for me to come so he could show me what he's doing with them. He said …" I grind my teeth and fight back the surge of rage that accompanies the memory. "Said he had plenty of things to keep her entertained until I got there." He squeezes my shoulder.

"Empty words, Link, that's all." I frown.

"How do you—"

"You haven't asked me how my trip went," he says with a bit of a smile, leaning back again in his chair. I frown at him.

"How did your trip go? Did you find Sahas-what's-his-name?"

"Sahasrahla, and yes," Dad answers. "And boy did he have a lot to say."

"Like what?" I demand. "Anything useful?"

"Plenty," Dad replies. "But I promised Neesha she could explain it to you." He made a chagrined face. "She, uh … she's not exactly pleased with me at the moment. Maybe you could put in a good word for me, hmm?"

"What did you do to her?" I demand. "I've been out for what? A day? And already you've got half the fortress wound up?"

"Neesha is hardly half the fortress," Dad points out. "And it's not so much what I did to her as what I said _about_ her that's got her face in a knot. The Gerudo are proud of very odd things sometimes and I hit a nerve, that's all."

"Hit a nerve," I scoff, "yeah, with a truncheon. Why do you do this to me, Dad?"

"To you?" Dad demands.

"Yes to me!" I reply. "I won't let them take it out on you, so they take it out on me!" Dad frowns.

"I'm pretty sure I could handle it there, son," he comments. "No need to protect me." I stare at him incredulously.

"Dad, do you have any idea what half this fortress would do to you if I let them? Just on principle?"

"I don't understand what their problem is," he grumbles. I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Let me sum up for you then," I say. "One, you're a Sheikah. Two, you're a Sheikah who ran away with and corrupted their one-time leader. Three, you're a Sheikah who somehow managed to contribute to the birth of their King, which makes their king part Sheikah and they blame you for that. And four, you're not just a Sheikah, you're an asshole."

"I am _not_ an asshole!"

"Why is Neesha mad at you?"

"I didn't _know_ she'd get mad over that!"

"Ignorance is no excuse. You have a talent for blundering into the single most offensive situations you can possibly find and pissing off half the fortress!"

"That hardly makes me a—"

"To them, it does," I reply, cutting him off. "And coupled with everything else I mentioned, it makes them hate you with all their bitter little hearts." A disgruntled silence descends for a moment. "So what _did_ you do, anyway?" He scratches at his chin.

"Promise you won't yell at me?"

"Fine, I promise."

"I asked her if she was a virgin."

"Dad!" I'm true to my word in that it's not a shout. It's more of a moan than anything. He at least has the grace to look embarrassed.

"What?" He demanded. "We had to know! She was there for the whole goddess damned _story_ along with everyone else! She _knew_ it was important!"

"You asked her in front of everyone?"

"Well … yeah."

"For Nayru's _sake_ , Dad! Were there any Gerudo there?"

"Well … just Nabooru, and two of them in White guarding the door." I cover my face with my hands and shake it.

"I cannot believe you would do that to her."

"And what, exactly, did I do to her?" He demands, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. "God knows _she's_ not telling me! She's not even speaking to me!"

"Dad … all right, look. For 95 of the world it is admirable to make it to your wedding before you … you know." I gesture uncomfortably and he nods. "But the Gerudo are not 95 of the world, now are they? And they don't get married. They don't even have anything close to it. So it's more of a … I mean, for a Gerudo it's like a … I guess you could call it a … a badge of pride. But that's not it. It's more like … it's more like … oh Din this is awkward … once you pass your Rite of Passage, you're considered a woman, right? And once you're considered a woman, you're allowed to go out and … you know."

"But they're only thirteen then!"

"Dad, I didn't write the rules, all right? And besides, most of them don't at that age. Not right off the bat, that would require being sent outside the desert on a mission that left you free time. Generally speaking the young women aren't privy to those kinds of assignments. And Gerudo they may be, but they're still half-little-girl and it can take them a while to work themselves up to it. Not to mention that generally if a guy's gonna … you know … with a girl that young he's probably not the most desirable guy for a variety of reasons. I don't know if you noticed, but the Gerudo have an issue with Pride, and they're generally not going to sink that low."

"So what, then?"

"So Neesha's sixteen, Dad. That's three years past her Rite of Passage, and she's not exactly a scrawny little twelve-year old any more. She should have … well … she's fast approaching the point where it's embarrassing that she hasn't yet."

"That she hasn't … you know?"

"Exactly. You never should have asked her that – it's a touchy subject to start with at her age – let alone in front of other Gerudo."

"But … she's so young! You can't seriously—"

"I don't, Dad, I don't anything. It's the women, all right? _They're_ the ones it matters to." Dad frowns disapprovingly.

"You can't tell me you and Hunter would just let—"

"Hunter and I don't let her do _anything_ , Dad, do you understand me? We are about three quarters of the reason she _hasn't_ , all right? When we were over the mountains where guys weren't immediately frightened off by the fact she's a Gerudo, Hunter and I spent half our time directing threatening looks and the other half following up on them." Dad looks amused all of a sudden.

"She put up with that?"

"We didn't really give her a choice," I comment. "I mean … I'll let a lot go because she's Gerudo and whatever else and she's got a right to be, but that? Not happening. Not on my watch."

"Well good," Dad says, looking a little happier with the situation. "I mean … I wouldn't go so far as to say she's like my daughter or anything, but … I mean she's not far from it, and I'd be very disappointed in all three of you if you just—"

"Glad to see you're not done ruining my life yet, Brayden."

"Neesha …" Dad says with a sigh. "It's not …"

"You didn't tell him everything, did you? You promised me I could!"

"I didn't tell him, no," Dad says with a resigned look. "Go ahead." He gets to his feet and pats my shoulder on his way by. "I'm going to go tell the others you're awake. Impa and Nabooru in particular would like to chat with you."

"No doubt," I mutter wryly. Neesha waits 'till he slips out the door, shutting it quietly behind him before turning to face me. There is, I can't help but notice, a decidedly sulky quality to her expression that usually only appears because someone's told her no.

"I'm not allowed to go with you to fight Agahnim," she says petulantly. I frown at her.

"Sez who?" I demand. She crosses her arms and slouches down in the chair beside my bed.

"Sez some crotchety old geezer your _father_ brought back with him."

"Sahasrahla?" I ask. "Why?" Her expression changes into something a little less petulant and little more murderous.

"Because thanks to you and Hunter, I'm still a virgin, that's why! And now everybody's going to know it by the end of the day because your Dad has a big mouth." I roll my eyes.

"Oh forgive us for looking out for you."

"Looking out for me," she scoffs. "Bah."

"And what does that have to do with anything, anyway?"

"Well _apparently_ , according to some random old loser who's probably crazy anyway, it has everything to do with anything."

"Neesha," I say flatly, "you're going to have to start making sense, or I'm going to kick you out and call for someone who does…"

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Nabooru could feel her face going pale.

"Sciarra, where did you find this?" She demanded, her voice just barely above a whisper. Sciarra shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"With all the other corpses," she answered. "Aliza and I dragged it in here before anyone else saw it. Not everyone will know what it is, but better safe than sorry. We didn't want to cause a panic."

"Good," Nabooru said thickly. "Good. There's no need for panic yet. It's just one. It may be a fluke or a freak, you never know." They stood there and stared at it for a moment more.

"Should … I summon the Elite?" Sciarra asked.

"No," Nabooru said quickly. "No. Not yet. Summon the Sages. I need to speak with them about this." Sciarra frowned.

"The Sages?" She demanded. "What do the Sages have to do with this?"

"If this thing … if this _abomination_ isn't just a freak, Sciarra, this is going to have everything to do with the Sages."

"Should I summon them here?" She asked, deciding – given the look on her face – it was best not to question Nabooru further. Nabooru thought for a moment.

"No. Summon them to the King's room. This … he needs to hear this as well." She paused to think. "And the old wiseman, as well. Bring him here, though. I would like to speak with him."

"And the body?"

"Once you've summoned them get Aliza and come back here. When the wiseman and I are done, cover it up, take it out to the desert and bury it deep." Her eyes narrowed at the corpse on the floor, furious at the thought of what it might signify. "Let the carrion crawlers have it."

***

##  **Chapter 10 (cont.)**

I find it ironic in too many ways to count that the King of the Gerudo – the one person who is supposed to be the epitome of all-things-Gerudo – gets to have the single most comfortable bed you've ever seen. But I do, and not just me either. Apparently all the Kings get this. Ganondorf had one too (not mine, of course. You can crush that idea right there. First order of business when I actually moved here was to chuck out anything of Ganondorf's that was going to be anywhere I was, _especially_ in the bedroom. His old study is still there, but that's because it's too dangerous to let anybody in there to sort it out and cleanse it. Even the Sages are leery of that room). I thought that was just his usual grandiosity showing itself, but no, lo and behold the next bed the Gerudo brought to me (and by "brought to me" I'm pretty sure I mean "stole for me" though how you steal a bed is quite beyond me) was just as soft and comfy.

Now, this isn't to say that Gerudo don't sleep on beds. There's nothing wrong with Gerudo beds – they're a million times better than Goron beds at least, not that that's hard (no pun intended, I swear) – it's just somehow I would have expected them to expect the King to sleep on a rock or something. It seems like a Gerudo thing to expect.

I have two theories for this. Number one is the idea that as the King of the Gerudo, I _am_ the epitome of all-things-Gerudo, and therefore have gone so far _beyond_ the usual Gerudo standards, that they no longer apply to me. I can be given a softer bed than everyone else because I won't be corrupted or ruined by it. I'm above that.

The other (and a million times more likely) theory is simply that yes, I am a Gerudo, yes I am King of the Gerudo, and yes I am the epitome of all-things-Gerudo, _but_ I'm still a man, and men (according to the Gerudo) are ultimately less tough than women. The bed is likely the one little jibe they can get in at the man who comes around every century to boss them around. This big, soft, massive bed is technically a Gerudo insult, small and relatively innocent though it may be.

But to tell you the truth, this kind of insult I can usually live with.

Too bad I can't enjoy it right now.

As the Sages begin randomly coming in through the door, I've very little choice to but to force myself up into a seated position against the headboard, strangling the rather strong urge to wince audibly and visibly and to sit there and look like that didn't hurt like a bitch, and I didn't just reopen my wounds, and I don't want to curl up under the covers and just stay there until the world goes away after what Neesha's told me.

I am as I've said, supposed to be the epitome of all-things-Gerudo, and a Gerudo would do none of that.

But more importantly I am the Hero of Time and I've got a job to do.

And whatever Nabooru thinks no amount of being stabbed is going to keep me from it.

Apparently something of this is evident in my expression, because Acqul sighs heavily when he walks in through the door, Ruto on his arm.

"I know that face," he says, and in those four words I hear the sound of an old ally falling over the line and onto my side once more. I flash him a grin, which he returns wryly. "I know that face, too," he comments.

"Are there going to be enough seats for everyone?" Darunia rumbles, looking around at my room.

"If there isn't I can just have one of the girls run and get some extras, or people can just sit on my bed." I give a bit of a shrug. "There's only acres of it." Darunia eyes the bed and shakes his head.

"Don't know how you can stand it," he says. "It looks uncomfortable." I roll my eyes at him – as does everyone else in the room (with the obvious exception of Karun who's looking as though he seconds that thought). I raise an eyebrow as the door opens again and a familiar grey-haired Gerudo strides in, looking terribly annoyed with life in general. I throw her the cockiest smirk I can manage.

"I see Nabooru's respecting your wishes to be left alone, Rue," I comment. "How's the retirement going?"

"If you don't want a few more holes punched in you," Rue says darkly, "you will guard your words better than that." She drops into a seat with a frown. "Does anyone know why we have been summoned so frantically when the one who summoned us is not even here?" She frowned and did a head count. "And where are the Sheikah?"

"Ah … Dune and Brayden won't be coming," Acqul says. "Unless absolutely necessary. I'll fill them in on everything later. It just seemed unnecessarily cruel to pull Dune away from Thomas right now, and Brayden opted to stay with her in case she needed something. I offered to stay, but as he pointed out, he's neither Sage nor General, and we were the one's summoned, so it was better he stay with her than me." Everyone in the room raises an eyebrow at him simultaneously and he colors, turning his normally light blue skin a little darker than usual around the cheeks. "It's nobody's business but ours," he mumbles quietly. "Just know that it's solved and forget it ever happened." Darunia laughs outright.

"Glad to hear it!" He says.

"And Impa?" Rue demands, bringing everyone back around to the subject at hand with her usual single-mindedness.

"Impa is likely off, doing what Sheikah do," Ruto replies easily. "Snooping." I nod.

"Sounds like Impa," I say. "Found out something urgent was going on and instead of just heading to the designated location to wait like a good little spy, she likely went straight to the source. Ten rupees says she arrives with Nabooru."

"That's a fool's bet and one I won't be taking," Darunia says with an easy grin.

"20 says Nabooru managed to dodge her," Neesha says. I turn to her and smirk.

"You're on."

"You also lose," Nabooru says from the doorway. We both blink and turn around as she enters in, Impa and a little old man I've never seen before in tow. Three guesses as to who he is. "What did I tell you about betting with him? Don't. He cheats."

"I do not!" I say, indignant, then pause. "Well … maybe with Aliza, but that's just because it drives her insane." Nabooru, however, is not really listening to me. She looks harried and distracted and frazzled – a state I've rarely seen her in. I straighten.

"Nabooru, what is it? What's going on?" She tosses something onto my bed within reach. I blink in surprise. It's a bottle of potion. I look up at her again and narrow my eyes as I pick up the bottle. "I thought …"

"Situation's changed," she says flatly, "and for once Sage of Spirit trumps Leader of the Gerudo. Drink up, Hero. You're going to need it." Any and all levity in the room pretty much dissipates with that.

"Nabooru, what's going on?" Rue says flatly. Neesha surrenders her chair to Nabooru and Acqul does the same with Sahasrahla. Both of them climb up and settle themselves cross-legged on my bed as Nabooru takes a moment to gather her thoughts and I slug back the healing potion, unable to keep the relief entirely off my face as most of the pain from my gut and back starts to dull.

"Is this about Zelda?" I ask. "Or Agahnim?"

"Yes and no," Nabooru says, her tone dark. "One of the Elite – Sciarra," she adds for the benefit of those of us who know the names, "found something while overseeing the clean-up after the Moblin raid last night." I frown.

"There was a Moblin Raid last night?" I demand. I frown at Neesha. "You left that part out."

"I figured it wasn't as important as Ganondorf being behind everything," she returns defensively. "And you kind of stopped listening to me after I said that anyway."

"What did she find, Nabooru?" Acqul asks, cutting us off. Nabooru looks up and scans the room, tallying something up in her head.

"Everybody in here except for Ruto, Neesha, and Link remembers the Great War," she says. "Some of us fought in it, some of us had parents or siblings who fought in it, but we all remember it. You three were just babies – Neesha, you weren't even born yet – so you might not fully understand the importance of what Sciarra found, but the rest of us …"

"Nabooru," Rue says tensely, "you've never been one to beat around the bush. Get to the point."

"She found a Moblin," Nabooru says bluntly. "One of the old ones." As Nabooru predicted, eyes all around the room simultaneously widen and/or narrow as appropriate except for Ruto's, Neesha's, and mine. Ruto frowns.

"You mean like an aged Moblin or like one of the ones that Daddy used to tell me about?"

"One of the ones your Daddy used to tell you about," Nabooru says darkly. "The first Moblins. The one's from the Dark World."

Now, I may not know the difference between the first Moblins and the later Moblins, in fact I wasn't even aware there was a distinction, but I know what the Dark World is, and I know that anything that has the "Dark World" descriptor before it is not a good thing.

"Somebody wanna tell me what, exactly this means for us?" I demand.

"The Dark World Moblins," Darunia rumbles, rubbing his chin with a frown, "were much, much meaner than the ones you know today. The Moblins you kids have fought are a diluted strain. Fatter, slower, dumber." He shakes his head. "We were totally slaughtered the first time we came up against them. We just weren't ready for something of that level of ferocity."

"Try living with them," Nabooru says with her trademark dark humour. "We lost more than one woman to their rampant, random fits. Not that Ganondorf cared."

"No, he wouldn't, would he?" I remark wryly. Neesha's frowning.

"I don't understand why this is so serious," she says. "So we found one Moblin who's tougher than the rest, so what? Maybe he's a freak of nature or something." But the little old man is shaking his head.

"I'm afraid not, my dear," he says. "While I wouldn't say it is impossible, given the state of things I'm afraid that it's just not the case."

"Then what is the case?" Neesha demands. "Why do we care about one strong Moblin?"

"Because that one strong Moblin _has_ to have come direct from the Dark World," Nabooru answers. "And where there's one, there's more."

"But … the seals…?" Ruto says, frowning perplexedly. "You said he needs all seven maidens to break them and we have one of them sitting right here." Neesha colors and stiffens beside me, but I nudge her with my elbow before she can say anything. Sahasrahla nods slowly.

"I did," he answers. "And I meant it. However he has six of the seven already. His spell is almost complete. It's likely given him enough power to bend the seals enough to let things escape."

"Things like Dark World Moblins." Impa says, her brow furrowing. "This is a problem."

"How many?" Karun demands. "How quickly? What are we facing here?" Neesha and I exchange a look, suddenly painfully aware of the empty spot on my other side where Hunter would normally sit, asking the logical questions before even Karun could.

"We don't know yet," Nabooru answers. "That's what we need to talk about. I'm going to send the Elite out on a Scouting Run to see if they can't figure out where—"

"The Towers," Neesha says suddenly, surprising everyone. They all turn to look at her. "Well it's obvious, isn't it? Why the Hell did he build those towers, anyway? They're all empty! There was nothing in them but the pendants and whatever monsters he set to guard them. You can't tell me he seriously built towers that huge just for that?" Everyone turns to look back at Sahasrahla and he's nodding his head slowly.

"It's possible," he admits. "It's definitely possible. They may be acting as a conduit for the Spell's power. Channelling it into the Light World, from the Dark."

"Light World?" Ruto asks.

"This one," Sahasrahla explains. "For ease of reference."

"Well … sure, but from what I could see the Towers didn't have any noticeable portals or other places for these things to slip through – half-completed spell or not."

"The don't need to," Rue murmurs. "If the old man is not just rambling incoherently, then the Towers would be able to activate any portals within range of its magic. They don't even have to do anything, they just need to be there."

"There are _portals_ to the Dark World?" I demand flatly.

"There _used_ to be," Impa says with a distant expression on her face. "If you knew where to find them. They've been there since long before the Dark World was formed. Back when it was the Sacred Realm."

"It wasn't really all that long ago," Karun points out. "Not quite 20 years ago?"

"18," I say, rubbing the back of my hand without really thinking about it. Without my gloves on the little glittering Triforce is exposed for everyone to see. "I was three."

"Two and a half," says a new voice. Everyone gathered turns to the door as Brayden slips in through it. "You were two and a half," he repeats.

"How is Dune?" Impa asks. Dad nods.

"She's all right," he says. "Told me to come here. She and Thomas are still talking, but I didn't want to grill him any more than I already had." He nods at Sahasrahla. "He doesn't know much but what he does know has all but confirmed everything you suspected." He turns to me. "And he wants to speak with you privately when you can. Said it was important." I blink in surprise, but nod.

"I'll talk to him after we're done here." Dad nods and moves over to stand against the wall beside Impa. They begin speaking in low tones as Impa fills him in on the conversation to date and the rest of us move back to it.

"So … basically what you're saying is that Agahnim built these towers as some part of his spell and he's using the people he's kidnapped in conjunction with these towers to reactivate portals to the Dark World in order to release the Moblins that have been trapped there since the seals were put in place in order to ultimately take over Hyrule in Ganondorf's name?"

"At Ganondorf's side," Sahasrahla corrects me, "but yes, that's what I'm suggesting."

"If these portals are reactivated, can't Ganondorf get out already?" Acqul demands. "How do we know he's not already out?"

"I'd know," I say darkly before anyone else can. I hold up my hand and point at the Triforce mark on my hand. "Believe me. This thing would let me know." Rue frowns.

"I do not believe," she says, "that the seals placed on the Dark World, are the same as the Seals placed on Ganondorf. Am I correct?" Nabooru nods slowly.

"Sort of," she answers. "The seals we placed work together, but yes, you could say there are two tiers of seals then."

"Then perhaps the maidens will only break the first tier."

"So you're saying Ganondorf needs something else to escape himself? He can let his army out but he's still missing the final ingredient to let himself out, is that it?" Dad asks. Rue looks at Sahasrahla, who looks thoughtful.

"Again it's possible. Magic like this … is complicated. It's hard to say for sure on any of this, and unfortunately I've hardly had the time Ganondorf has had to think all this out, but I would say it is definitely a possibility."

"So then … what would he need to escape himself?"

"I bet you any money it involves me dying," I say bluntly. Everyone blinks in surprise and turns to me. "What?" I demand. "It's true! The solution to all of Ganondorf's problems is apparently as simple as killing me. You can't tell me I'm the only one who's noticed this pattern!"

"I'd hardly call that one time a pattern," Nabooru says defensively.

"I'd like to point out that _you_ are the ones who made a seal who's only loophole was my death."

"We did better the second time," Ruto says. "We fixed that. He won't be able to pull that again. Killing you won't help him, this time, Link. Not," she adds, "that you're exactly easy to kill if the stories are to be believed."

"Believe them," Dad, Neesha and myself all say at the same time. We were all there when I died that day.

"Either way, it won't work again," Darunia rumbles. "What we need to do now is figure out what _will_ work and prevent it."

"Not to mention put a stopper in the portals that _are_ currently activated."

"Well," Sahasrahla says, "with only six maidens, his range won't be very far yet. The spell needs to be complete for that, so—"

"Five," I say.

"Pardon?" Sahasrahla asks.

"Five," I repeat. "He's only got five." Sahasrahla frowns.

"I thought he'd captured the Seventh Sage as well."

"He did," I answer. "But he hasn't done anything with her yet."

"How do you know?" Sahasrahla asks.

"He's waiting for me. He told me so," I add when everyone gives me odd looks. "After he … well, after he stabbed me a couple times … he used Zelda's powers. Look, it's hard to explain."

"And you just randomly decide to believe an old wizard who's proven he's not to be trusted?" Nabooru demands with a raised eyebrow.

"What I believe is the fact that I can still _feel_ Zelda on the other end of our connection if I concentrate for a while. It's … harder than it should be, Agahnim's blocking us somehow, but I can do it. She hasn't disappeared yet." Ruto's expression softens suddenly.

"Link, none of us can sense her," she says gently. "Are you sure you're not just—"

"It's not false hope," I say flatly before she can finish. "And it has nothing to do with personal feelings, all right? She's there. I don't know where, I don't know how, but I know she is." I just managed to stop myself before adding, _and it's the only thing keeping me here, talking with all of you, instead of running hell-for-leather straight to Castletown._ Expressions around the room vary. Some believe me, some don't, some aren't sure, but I don't care. I don't need their belief. I need their trust. That's all.

"All right then," Impa says. "Our path on this much is clear at least: we need to survey the Towers, confirm they are what we suspect, and find out just how far spread this Moblin infestation may be. Ruto, Nabooru …"

"Way ahead of you," Nabooru responds. "I've asked the Elite to gather in the Council Chamber. I'll brief them right after this and we'll head out. I'm going with them."

"I think that's for the best," Ruto agrees. "I'll do the same with the Zora." She offers a wry smile. "They'll be unhappy with me for dragging them out of our warm little grotto and into a frozen Lake Hylia, but there you have it." Impa nods.

"I as well," she says.

"What sort of timeframe are we looking at, here?" Darunia asks. They think.

"Three days," Nabooru answers. "It'll take us three days to do a proper reconnaissance of the area possibly affected and make sure we've found everything there is to find." Impa and Ruto nod as well.

"Sounds about right," Ruto says. Everyone in the room but me and Neesha nod. This does not go unnoticed. Nabooru frowns in irritation and opens her mouth to say something, but Sahasrahla beats her to it.

"Will you be able to give us this much time, Hero?" He asks, an odd expression on his face. Neesha turns to me expectantly, that _say-the-word_ expression on her face that makes me appreciate her more than I can adequately express without getting the living daylight beaten out of me for being a sissy. Whatever I say she'll accept.

"I will give you," I say slowly, "what I can give you. But I am making no promises. And three days is a very long time."

"Much appreciated," Sahasrahla says, climbing to his feet. "And with that, perhaps we should get down to business. Rue, my dear, would you mind putting your head together with mine? I believe we have some research to do regarding the exact nature of any kind of counter spell that might be preformed to break the seal on Ganondorf, and I'm afraid you're the only one really qualified here to help me." Rue's expression is intensely annoyed but she nods and gets to her feet, a look of resignation on her face. She mutters something to herself about a crazy-old-rambler-who-talks-too-much on her way past my bed. Nabooru looks like she wants to say more to me, but the next instant Ruto and Impa are pulling her out of the room to speak with her about coordinating their scouting runs. Everybody else pretty much follows suit until it's just me and Neesha. She crawls down to the other end of the bed, then turns around so we can talk face to face.

"So," she says, "how long are we going to give them?" I sigh heavily and lean my head back against the head board.

"I don't know," I say. "This is more complicated than I thought at first."

"What do you mean?" Neesha asks. I gesture uselessly.

"I just have this feeling … like we've only just scratched the surface of this. I mean, I want to think this is an easy fix, but it's not going to be, is it?" Neesha raises an eyebrow at me.

"My biggest concern right now is which one of us has to be the responsible one now that Hunter's not here. I was thinking of _maybe_ replacing him with Zelda temporarily, but now she's gone too. You think maybe we could hire one of the twins?" I grin helplessly at her and throw one of my pillows at her.

"You don't like the twins."

"I don't like Zelda either," she says, blocking the pillow, "but the fact remains that we need a responsible team member to blame for the things we screw up until we can get Hunter back." She pauses, uncertain suddenly. "We _will_ get him back, right?"

"Yes," I say simply. "We'll get him back if we have to go to the Dark World to do it." Neesha nods, satisfied for the moment with that.

"Are you all right?" She asks. "You always get kind of off balance whenever Ganondorf's brought up. You're not going to like … freak out on me or anything are you?" I offer her a feral grin.

"I'm not afraid of Ganondorf," I answer – and it's actually half-true. Half-true or all true, it's enough for Neesha.

"Good," she answers. "Because something tells me we haven't seen the last of him."

"I'm starting to wonder if we ever will …"

***

I find Thomas on top of the fortress, taking advantage of the ever lengthening breaks in the rain to stare out over the desert with a far away look in his eyes.

Far-away, but not dead.

A weight I hadn't noticed lifts from my chest and it's suddenly a bit easier to breathe.

"Hey," I say, coming over to lean up against the rail beside him. "Dad said you wanted to talk to me."

"Yeah," he says heavily. "Yeah, I do." The mood is heavy and guilt-ridden and I'm suddenly very uncomfortable.

"Thomas, listen," I say, "about … well about everything. You don't need to apologize or beg for forgiveness, or any of that. I don't blame you for any of it. _Any_ of it. Not even … not even Bruiser." I turn my face away from his profile and stare out at the horizon, taking a moment to breathe deeply and let the dull ache in my chest subside to the background once more before I continue. "It wasn't you. It was Agahnim, and he'll pay for it. But not you. Whatever … whatever forgiveness you need, it's yours." Thomas gives a small laugh.

"I … appreciate it," he says. "I couldn't figure out how to ask for it, you know? I'm … glad you don't hate me for it …"

"But?" I ask, picking up on the way he trails off.

"But it still doesn't make it better," he says dully. "It doesn't change the fact that Bruiser's … it doesn't change anything. Doesn't change what I've done. Doesn't change what I've betrayed."

"Thomas …"

"Link, I know you forgive me, all right? And I know … I know Neesha and Bel and Mel and half the Sages and half the generals forgive me. I know … I know the rest will eventually forgive me if … if everything works out. I know that, and I appreciate that more than I can tell you, but it doesn't change anything. Yes Agahnim used me, yes I had no control over my actions, but I still … I'm still the one who let it happen. I'm still the one who … I should have known better than to let him take me in like that. I should have … _expected_ something like that, but I didn't. For all my training, for all my efforts, for all my everything, I still walked right into that, and let myself be used like I was." He stops, frustration evident in his voice. He runs an agitated hand through his hair.

"Look, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," he says finally. "We can … I'm still trying to get used to having control of myself right now. It's been so long …" I hesitate.

"Then what _did_ you want to talk to me about?" I ask. He pauses, throwing a distrusting frown over his shoulder at the Elite standing just at the door. I turn around and gesture for her to go back inside and leave us alone. She frowns, throwing an even _more_ distrusting look at Thomas, but I frown right back and she makes a disgruntled noise and bows quickly, before turning on her heel and slipping back through the door. Once the door closes Thomas turns back to me, the tortured expression gone from his face and replaced with one of urgency and concern.

"Link, listen to me, Agahnim's ready for you." I blink in surprise.

"Thomas, I know that. He told me himself."

"No, no … I don't mean … look, he _wants_ you to come after him, all right? I don't know why, but he _wants_ you to …" He pauses at a loss for words. "Well, to be honest he made it sound like he wants you to kill him."

"What?" I demand with a frown. Thomas gestures helplessly.

"I don't know!" He says. "I don't know what he was talking about! All I know is he's got some kind of horrible plan for you. Link, I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. I don't know … maybe he'll do to you what he did to the others, but I can't … I don't …" He stops, frustrated again. I frown at him.

"You're not telling me to not go," I point out. Thomas hesitates, looking almost embarrassed suddenly.

"I … no, I'm not," he answers. "I'm just … warning you. I mean, even if I told you not to go, you wouldn't listen to me anyway, and I know you hate being told stuff like that. And … and truth be told … I _want_ you to go." I blink in surprise.

"Come again?" I say. He winces.

"I know it sounds stupid, but you … you have this ability to fix things," he says. "I mean … you've … you've _fixed_ things that shouldn't have ever been able to fixed. You fixed Hyrule when it was broken, you fixed the Moblins invading Castletown, I mean, you even kind of fixed the Gerudo! And maybe, I mean … maybe you can fix this too. That's what the Hero of Time is for, isn't it? That's what you do?"

"Yeah," I answer slowly, "yeah it is." Thomas nods.

"That's why I didn't tell anybody else, not even Mum. Because I knew they'd use it against you. If they knew Agahnim had a plan for you, they'd want to protect you from it, right?"

"You're right on that one," I say wryly. "And believe me, I appreciate it."

"Good," Thomas says, looking relieved. "Just be careful when you do go, all right? Watch out for him. He's a snake." I nod at him and we both turn back to the horizon again. For a long moment neither one of us speaks.

"Hey, look," I say, "I think maybe you should talk to Dad if you feel up to it. He … knows what it's like to be in a situation like yours. He's been there." Thomas gives a bit of a rueful laugh and lowers his head.

"Brayden can't even look at me, Link," he says. "I murdered his brother, remember?" I wince at the straightforward way he says it.

"You didn't murder anybody," I say flatly. "Let's get that straight first and foremost. And second, I think you underestimate my father's capacity for forgiveness." I pause. "The reason he can't look at you isn't because of Bruiser. It's because … it's because of what I said. About how he's been there. You remind him of all of that, and it's not a happy memory, if you take my meaning. Truth be told I think it would do him as much good as it would do you to talk with you about it. All this talk of the Dark World and stuff … it has him on edge." Thomas makes a noise half-way between a no and a we'll-see.

"I'll think about it," he says. We fall silent for a moment more, then I sigh and turn away from the balcony. I have a million things on my plate to see to and I should probably get to them. It's not until my hands on the door handle that Thomas speaks again.

"Link?" He calls.

"Yeah?" I ask. He hesitates.

"Do you think … do you think Hunter will forgive me?" I pause and frown down at the handle.

"I don't know, Thomas," I answer truthfully. "That's between you and him."

He turns silently back to the horizon and I slip through the door, shutting it quietly behind me.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Be quick about it," growled Liam, giving her a rough shove in the direction of the door. She gasped and just managed to keep her grasp on her tray without spilling it all over the place. She resisted the urge to cry. Liam had always been so nice to her, but ever since he'd been assigned to guard this strange boy …

_It's only bee a day or so. He's probably just got something on his mind, that's all_ , Marni assured herself. _He looks distracted … or something._ It was true. His eyes had a dull quality to them they never had before. She didn't like them like that. She liked them better when they were happy and sparkling.

She pushed the door open with her elbow and carefully pulled herself and her tray into the room with the strange Sheikan boy in the cell in the corner, a funny kind of black aura around the lock on it. She didn't ask any questions, she'd been told not to. She'd been _threatened_ not to. It had only been an insinuation, but it had been enough. Liam knew her and her brother too well, and she was afraid of what he might do to them if she questioned anything.

But she couldn't help but talk to the boy.

He looked so alone in the cell like that.

"Hello," she said with false cheerfulness once the heavy iron door had closed and she knew Liam couldn't here any more. "I've … I've brought you your lunch." She blushed suddenly and reached into her pocket, pulling out a well-wrapped sweet bun. "I'm … I'm not supposed to do this, but I brought you some desert today. Please don't tell anyone, though, all right? I'll get in trouble." The boy looked up sharply at her and Marni blinked in surprise.

"You can sneak things in here?" He asked, his tone urgent.

"I … well, yes … I'm … I'm not supposed to, but Liam doesn't really … I'm just a servant so no one really pays any attention. Do you like sweet buns? I can … I can try and bring you something else next time…"

"Marni," the boy breathed. "Marni …" His oddly crimson eyes moved back and forth suddenly, as though he was thinking of something. "Marni I need you to do something for me."

"Oh no, sir, I couldn't," Marni said, straightening suddenly. "You seem like a very nice person, but you're a prisoner, and people don't get put in here for no reason, do they?"

"Marni … Marni, listen to me," the boy said, on his feet suddenly. Marni took a step back, despite the fact there was no way the boy could get near her. "How loyal are you to Hyrule?" Marni bristled, despite how threatened she felt.

"My loyalty can't be bought if that's what you're suggesting!" She cried. "I won't help an enemy of Hyrule! Not even if you threatened to kill me!" The boy had a cunning look in his eye suddenly.

"Does that apply to the Princess as well?" He asked. Marni drew herself up to her full height and looked him straight in the eye, feeling very proud of herself for being able to do so.

"Yes, sir it does," she replied. "I would do anything for my Lady Zelda, bless her heart. And my Lord Link as well, before you even ask! So you can may as well save your breath because I won't listen to a word of your treason—" And before she could finish the boy did something very unexpected.

He began to laugh.

Delightedly.

Marni stopped ranting, flabbergasted.

"Oh Marni!" The boy cried. "Marni you wonderful thing you!"

"I don't understand," Marni said weakly.

"Marni, listen to me, and listen closely," the boy said. "Your Princess is in trouble and she needs your help."

"How do you know the Princess?" Marni demanded, glaring at him suspiciously. "You're trying to trick me!"

"Marni, I swear it, I'm not!" The boy said. He reached for his glove. "Marni I know the princess, because I _am_ the Princess." Marni frowned.

"Sir, I may not be the smartest girl around here, but I'd know the Princess if I saw—oh!" The boy pulled off his glove and held up his hand. Gleaming in the torchlight on the back of it was a gold Triforce mark.

"I have certain magical abilities, Marni," the boy was saying quickly. "One of them is the ability to take this shape in order to disguise myself when I need to."

"Then prove it," Marni said, cautiously, unable to take her eyes off the Mark that belonged only on the hands of the King Link and the Princess Zelda (proof, in her mind, that they were fated to be). "Change back."

"I can't, Marni. Agahnim has … Agahnim is not a friend of Hyrule, Marni, and he's imprisoned me here and used his own black magic to trap me in this shape so no one will recognize me." Marni frowned.

"Then how can I believe you? Maybe you imitated that mark. Maybe … maybe … Agahnim's evil?" She asked, blinking. Her face turned smug all of a sudden. "Oh I knew it! I knew it! Anyone who says those horrible things about Sir Link _has_ to be evil!" She pauses. "That still doesn't prove you're the Princess, though."

"Ask me something then, quickly," the boy said. "I'll prove it to you. Something only the princess would know." Marni thought about it for a moment.

"A year ago," she said, "in the middle of the summer, the Princess Zelda and Sir Link had a fight – their biggest one to date. What was it over?" The boy bristled.

"Well I hardly think that's any of your business, and how do you know about it anyway?"

"Just answer the question. Answer it and I'll believe you because the news of it never got any further than the two of you and me."

"It was over … he … proposed to me and I turned him down."

"Why? You wrote a note to him explaining why when he wouldn't speak to you, what did it say?"

"You read it?" The boy gasped.

"I caught a _glimpse_ of it," Marni insisted, coloring. "That's all. What did it say?"

"It said … I told him no because … because I loved him too much to … to let him make the kind of commitment that … that would come with marrying the Princess of Hyrule. Because I couldn't … I couldn't bear to see him tied down like that. I can't believe you read it!"

"I can't believe you're the Princess," Marni said, her eyes having grown progressively wider during the boy's tirade. She gasped suddenly and dropped to her knees. "Oh! Forgive my rudeness, my lady …um, lord! I'm so sorry! I really am! And I didn't mean to pry with the letter, but I dropped it on my way to Sir Link and it got wet, so I had to replace the envelope and I really did just glance at it, that's all!" The boy swallowed his irritation and nodded.

"It's all right, Marni, get up. I need you to look at me." Marni did so. "Now listen, very closely, Marni, the fate of Hyrule rests on this."

"Anything," Marni said, somewhat breathlessly.

"I need you, with my next meal, to bring me down a piece of parchment and something to write with. By the next meal I'm going to give you back the piece of paper and you're going to hold on to it."

"All right," Marni said, looking confused. "But what—"

"Sir Link is going to be coming soon, Marni. I don't know when, or how he'll arrive, but he will come. I need you to watch for him, and I need you to give him that paper, do you understand me? Him and no one else! And you can't tell anyone! It must remain an absolute secret, for your own sake and everyone else's!"

"I will!" Marni said. "I promise! You can count on me!" The boy opened his mouth to say something, but the next second the door started to open and he threw himself suddenly back onto the little cot set into the wall and went back to glaring sullenly at the lock.

"Move it or lose it," Liam growled at Marni. "What's taking you?"

"N-Nothing," Marni stuttered, gathering up the tray and slipping it under the bars to where the boy could get at it. "Sorry …"

Liam stood aside and let her shuffle out of the cell before throwing a dark look at the boy and pulling the door shut once again.

Sheik continued to stare at the door for a moment after it had been shut, contemplating what he'd just done. He was involving Marni in something he really had no right to involve her in. If Agahnim found out she was helping …

But risks had to be taken, and sacrifices had to be made.

A hard truth but a truth just the same.

She settled herself down onto the cot and ignored her lunch entirely.

Maybe Link would actually be able to rescue her – he done the impossible so many times in the past, why not now? – but she had a feeling he wouldn't. She had a feeling things were going to get worse before they got better.

And this was the only way she could think of to help him.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift off into sleep …

_Darkness._

_Not solid black, translucent black, but black just the same._

_She cast a look around, aware of the feeling of urgency and foreboding that dominated her awareness. She recognized the dream for what it was; not just a dream, but one of_ those _dreams, and at that realization the dream took shape, as it always did._

_She braced._

_This would be a bad one …_


	11. Walk it With Your Head Held High

#  **Chapter 11 and Interludes**

_Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts…  
…_that's _what little girls are made of_ – _to_ Hell _with sugar and spice._

—Unknown—

_Often I have found that the one thing that can save, is the thing which appears most to threaten...one has to go down into what one most fears and of that a saving flicker of light and energy that, even if it does not produce the courage of a hero, at any rate enables a trembling mortal to take one step further._

—Laurens Van Der Post—

##  **Chapter 11**

It's a blessed, merciful crack of thunder that wakes me this time, sending me sitting straight up in my bed with a gasp, sheen of cold sweat shining in the accompanying lightning flash and soaking my sheets. I lean forward and rest my head in my shaking hands for a long moment, trying to regulate my frantic heartbeat and my panicked, shallow breathing.

Nightmares.

I let out a long, slow, shuddering breath.

I _hate_ nightmares.

I fall back onto my pillow with a frustrated, sleep-deprived growl and immediately curl up around myself. I haven't had a wink of sleep tonight. Not so much as a wink. Every time I let myself go I fall into a new nightmare, worse than the last. Sometimes I wake up right away. Sometimes it takes a while. Sometimes it feels like I can't wake up at all and I'll be stuck in the nightmare forever. I close my eyes and turn my face into my pillow, trying to make myself stop shaking, but it's no use.

I can't go back to sleep. I'm not going back to sleep.

It's fire and death and destruction every time I fall asleep.

There's only so many times in one night you can watch everything you love destroyed before you've had enough.

I've hit my quota.

I fight my way out of my tangled sheets and onto the floor, padding barefoot across my floor and over to where my boots are. I briefly play with the idea of getting dressed, but discard it just as quickly.

Why? You spend enough time with the Gerudo – who have _no_ respect for personal privacy or propriety or any other number of things which 90 of the world lives by, but they consider frivolous – you stop caring after a while. Half this fortress has seen me in my boxers and undershirt anyway, so who cares?

Besides, I'm antsy and getting dressed takes time.

I pull on my boots as thunder rolls again outside and the rain continues to pound away at my window. The two Elite outside the door both blink at me in surprise when I slide the door open and slip out.

"Is something wrong?" One of them asks while the other peers into the room and scans it for the problem.

"No, no," I say, waving her off. "Just … can't sleep, that's all. I'm going to go for a walk."

"Not outside, I hope," she says, raising an eyebrow at me. I grin at her.

"I may be reckless," I say, "but I'm not that reckless. Last thing I need right now is pneumonia."

"Do you want us to come with you?" I let the grin turn into a smile.

"No thanks," I say. "I need to think. I'll be back in a bit anyway."

"Do us a favour and don't get into trouble, all right? Nabooru'll have our heads."

"Nabooru will never know," I say with a wink and disappear around the corner, stifling a yawn as I go. The halls are nearly dead at this time of night. Some of the purple will be running a night patrol, and they'll be up on the walls as well, but beyond that everyone's in bed and asleep (except of course the two Elite lucky enough to draw the night shift on my room. I've told them they don't need to bother, but arguing with the Elite is like arguing with a brick wall. All you'll have to show for it at the end is a sore throat, a set of bloodied knuckles and an unmoved brick wall).

I wander around without really paying attention to where I'm going. I've lived here long enough I don't need to worry about getting lost in the hallways and not being able to find my way back out again. To say my thoughts are preoccupied with other things would be the grossest of understatements.

It takes me a few minutes to place the leaden feeling that's settled in my gut and made me feel thick and slow. It's not quite fear, not quite anger, not quite anything that active. It's cold and hot at the same time and I can feel it dragging at me as I walk. It's got my stomach tied in knots, my brows furrowed, and my fists jammed into my pockets and my shoulders kind of hunched as though if I could shrink myself up small enough it'll go away and leave me alone.

There's no denying what is once I figure it out, though.

Dread. That's what it is.

The unshakable, unalterable, undeniable feeling that something very, very soon is going to go very, very wrong. I don't know what, I don't know how … but when I finally make up my mind to go after Agahnim … that's when. There's something we're not calculating. Some number that we've left out and it's going to change the answer to the question. There's something we don't know … and whatever it is, it's bad.

Agahnim is goading me.

He was goading me when he stabbed me as Zelda. He could have killed me right then and there – I wasn't expecting the attack. I left myself wide open. One good shot and that would have been it – but he didn't. He's goading me by leaving her at Castletown instead of sending her wherever it is he's sending these people, close enough I can almost feel her through our link but not close enough. And now he's goading me with these nightmares.

I narrow my eyes at the floor.

I know it's him.

I've had more than my fair share of nightmares over the course of my life – enough to know a thing or two about them – and the nightmares I've been having tonight aren't mine. They're too pointed, too frequent. Too … coherent, I guess.

But in a way, I don't care.

As long as he's goading me, it means Zelda's all right. If what Sahasrahla says is true, there isn't much he could do to her – at least not anything worth his time. He said he'd wait for me, and he meant it.

But why?

Why is he waiting? Why risk losing Zelda all over again? What does he want with me?

He wants me to kill him – or so Thomas says. But that makes no sense. Why would he _want_ me to kill him? Who _wants_ to die?

Would me killing him free Ganondorf? Is that what it is?

I rub my face tiredly. That doesn't sound right at all. Why wouldn't he just kill himself then? And why would he want me to do it?

Why is he waiting for me?

Why?

"Farore," I mutter under my breath, crossing my arms across my chest and training my eyes on the ground as I walk. "So what?"

A valid question. So what if he's waiting for me? So what if he's got something planned for me? Does it matter? Does it change the fact that I have to go after him? Does it change the fact that he's my only link to the missing people? Does it change the fact that my friends are missing? Does it change the fact that Bruiser's dead? Does it change the fact that he's working for Ganondorf and if I don't do something, and soon, the old Pig is going to escape his prison and wreak havoc on Hyrule again?

No.

It does not.

But it doesn't make me feel any better either.

The lead in my gut gets heavier.

I wish Hunter was here, and Neesha was speaking to me, and Bruiser was alive. I wish Zelda, and Malon, and Saria, and Goron-Link, and Laruto were all safe and sound with their parents. I wish Agahnim wasn't on the throne of Hyrule, and the people of Hyrule didn't believe in him, and he'd never touched Bel and Mel and Thomas, and there weren't Dark World Moblins in the light world, and Ganondorf wasn't such a pain in the ass, and the Sages weren't so above the world all the time, and the generals weren't so _part_ of the world all the time, and Rue wasn't so old, and I wasn't so young, and it wasn't the goddess damned _rainy season_.

For a brief, agonizing moment, I wish with all my heart that I wasn't the Hero of Time, and I hadn't somehow brought all of this on the world by virtue of that simple fact, and that I hadn't picked up the Master Sword back when I was given the option to leave it in the pedestal and lead a normal life.

"Link!"

I gasp and whirl around, startled out of my skin by the voice. "Rue!" I gasp, falling weakly against the wall and pressing a hand against my frantic heart. "Sweet merciful Din! Don't sneak up on me like that!" She frowns at me.

"I didn't," she replies. "I called out to you twice before now. Is everything all right? Why aren't you in bed?" She sighs before I can answer and waves it off. "Never mind, you're up now, you may as well come on in with us."

"Us?"

"Sahasrahla, Dune, Thomas and I," she responds, the rolls her eyes. "Not that Thomas has been much help since midnight."

"What are you doing?" I ask, following her willingly, grateful for the reprieve from my mental track. I'm not exactly eager to continue my previous line of thought.

I've never done that before: wished I wasn't the Hero of Time.

That's kind of frightening.

"Brainstorming," Rue answers quietly, slipping through a door. I follow her in and survey the room. Sahasrahla sits in a chair in the corner with a thoughtful frown on his face as he stares up at the ceiling – pausing long enough to offer me a warm smile – Thomas is curled up on two-thirds of a couch and Dune sits in a relaxed position on the last third, her feet up on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Rue moves across the room and drops onto another chair, and I grab a seat on the couch beside her. Dune raises an eyebrow at me.

"Dare I ask where your pants are?"

"Well I didn't expect to be invited to a party," I tell her with a grin. "I might have dressed up a bit had I known." Dune rolls her eyes.

"Dressed at all would have been nice," she murmurs. A yawn takes me by surprise.

"It's three o'clock in the morning, Dune," I reply. "I think the fact that I'm awake is an amazing feat in and of itself. You ask for a lot." She looks upwards and shakes her head, but the corners of her mouth are twitching and I know she's forgiven me for it.

"So what are we brainstorming?" I ask, turning around to survey the group.

"Just about everything," Dune answers. "Letting the conversation go where it will on the subject of our current situation and seeing if we can't solve _something_ before the sun comes up."

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" I ask her. "I thought you were going with Impa tomorrow."

"I am," Dune responds, "but Sahasrahla and Rue wanted Thomas for the first part of this conversation and truth be told I wasn't really sleeping, anyway, so I figured I'd help them out too."

"Ah," I say. "So … where were you before I interrupted?"

"I believe," Sahasrahla says, "we were discussing the implications of Thomas' description of Agahnim's activities with the maidens." My lip quirks into a bit of a grin.

"Hey, look," I say, "he's not here to defend himself, so I should probably step in. Is there something else we can call them? I don't know that Hunter would take all that fondly to the idea of being a maiden."

"Is there another term that would provide the same ease of reference?" Rue asks primly. "Then maidens is the term we will use." I sigh.

"Have it your way," I say, pulling my legs up under me and leaning on the arm of the couch. "I actually haven't heard yet this particular story. What's he been doing with them?"

"Whatever it is, it's definitely a spell," Sahasrahla says. "Behind Agahnim's throne is a room with an altar in it. Agahnim would have Thomas lay the maiden out on the altar – quite unconscious, though that is likely more for ease than for any magical reasons. It's hard to cast a spell on a moving target – and Agahnim would begin casting. Once his incantations were complete, the maiden would appear to blur and the next instant would be gone."

"Teleportation?" I ask. Rue shakes her head.

"Teleportation isn't as complicated as what Thomas has described. It's a sending of some kind, but not that kind."

"A sending?"

"Technical term," Sahasrahla supplies. "It is exactly what it sounds like. When you take something and send it somewhere else." I rest my head on my arm and frown at him.

"So where is he sending them?"

"That, unfortunately, is where our knowledge runs out," Rue says with a sigh. "We don't know. He would have had to have said the name of the place in the incantation, but it would have been in the language of magic, and Thomas, unfortunately, wasn't nearly far enough in his magical studies to have been able to follow what he was saying, or even to accurately remember the words."

"And if the things he's done so far are any judge, it's very old, very black magic indeed that Agahnim is casting, and if such is the case Thomas wouldn't have been able to do anything even if he _was_ further in his magical training. I suspect Agahnim's dealing with custom spells as well, which adds another layer of complication onto identifying them."

"It's the blurring that concerns me," Rue muses. I'd turn my head to look at her but I'm too tired. "That's an effect that isn't common with a sending. It's usually more … violent than that. An instant disappearance, a jerk, a visual display of light or darkness or sound or something. Not this … blurring."

"Hmm," Sahasrahla says in what I assume is agreement. I yawn again and shake my head furiously in an attempt to wake myself up. If I fall asleep now I'll have defeated my whole purpose in getting up in the first place.

It's just so warm in here …

"So maybe it wasn't a sending then," I offer.

"What else could it have been?" Dune asks. "What would make them disappear like that, but leave them alive?" She paused. "He _does_ need them alive, right?"

"Yes," Sahasrahla says. "He needs them alive. Perhaps he's putting them to sleep?"

"That doesn't explain why they disappear." Silence falls for a moment and despite my best efforts I snuggle further down into the couch, curling up against the corner in a position entirely too comfortable.

I don't want to sleep …

But I'm so tired …

"Maybe it has something to do with the Dark World," Rue says as I feel my eyes fall shut slowly.

Maybe he'll leave me alone now that I'm with other people.

"You think he's sending them there?" Dune asks in a horrified voice.

Whatever answer is given to her is lost on me as I finally give up and let myself fade off to sleep.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Neesha stalked her way through the torch-lit halls wrapped in a cloud of murder. The few night guards she crossed paths with gave her a wide berth, even a lone Green, and the Green were generally horrified by her existence because of the simple contradiction of the rules she represented – granted her Rite of Passage before she was technically allowed, youngest Gerudo _ever_ to be named a Red (younger than _Natalia_ which was saying something), was closer to the King and _allowed_ to be than all of the White put together, and a million-and-one other paper-work generators that they all generally hated her for with all their bitter little administration-oriented hearts.

She sniffed derisively.

The feeling was mutual.

And anyway what did all of that general exceptionalness count for anyway? Apparently nothing. Apparently the fact that she had never failed in any mission she'd been given, that she continually and consistently provided more protection for the King than the White could ever hope to due to his nature, that she spent nearly all of her free-time training until she could barely stand (or until Link and Hunter took a fit and started feeling neglected and dragged her away from it) amounted to absolutely nothing when push came to shove.

Instead of following her King (and her _friend_ ) into glorious combat against a boil on the face of life in general who was in desperate need of a sword in the gut, she was to be locked up in the fortress, to sit on her ass, while everyone else got to go out and have fun.

What kind of Gerudo sat on her ass while there was a worthy fight to be had?

It wasn't fair that they expected it of her! It wasn't fair at all!

_It's because they're not Gerudo,_ she thought bitterly to herself. _And Nabooru can't go against them on this. They don't understand … I_ can't _just sit here!_

They really didn't understand, and she had no way of making them. Agahnim has insulted her personally. He had _dared_ to touch those few people within her inner circle of what anyone else would have called family but for which Neesha had never bothered to assign a name. It didn't matter _what_ they were, she knew _who_ they were and what they meant to her and that was all that mattered.

And Agahnim had damaged that circle – maybe beyond repair.

That kind of assault … that kind of _direct challenge_ couldn't go unanswered. It couldn't!

_It won't_ , she assured herself. _I won't let it._

But what could she do? Now that Link (that bastard. That unbelievable bastard) had added his voice to those barring her from the fight (not that it had been as simple as that. Not that she would have _let_ it be as simple as that. She had ranted and railed and screamed until her throat was hoarse, but he wouldn't be budged – not with the Sages laying guilt trips on him from every possible angle), there was really no hope. Link was her King after all, and to go against his order would amount to nothing but shame.

She froze in mid-step.

But he hadn't _ordered_ her, had he?

In fact he'd been very careful not to. He always was. It was extraordinarily important to him that he didn't, she knew that for a fact. Even with the other Gerudo he rarely issued orders, preferring to let them ultimately make their own choices about the matter at hand. He claimed it was easy to ignore orders from someone else, but not so easy to ignore a choice you had made yourself; easy to betray a leader, impossible to betray yourself.

And after all, what would sitting here and letting Link go off on his own (seeing as she never really let the Sages or the Elite intrude on any of her mental calculations. If he wasn't with her or Hunter, he was on his own as far as she was concerned) be, if not betraying herself and that little circle of people who were important to her? If Link died and she hadn't been there to at least _try_ to save him, Hunter would never forgive her.

And if Link died, who would rescue Hunter?

And she really didn't want to pass-up an opportunity to laugh in Hunter's face because he got himself captured like some Hylian Princess. What if they rescued Hunter at the same time as dealing with Agahnim? It was possible, wasn't it? It's not like they knew where Agahnim was hiding them. Maybe they were there somehow.

How could she just _sit_ there and not try and rescue Hunter, and not go and protect Link, and just _let_ her little circle go out into the world without so much as a shield to be whittled down further than it already was?

Few things in life, she knew, were easy. Dealing with the backlash from disobeying would not be easy. Sneaking out and following undetected would not be easy. Standing her ground against the onslaught of care and concern and unbending will set against her would not be easy (though she was determined to make it look as though it was) …

But the answer to that simple little question …

That was easy.

Her eyes narrowed in determination and she resolutely changed direction.

She couldn't.

And that was just too bad for everyone else.

***

"What do you think, Highness?" Rue asked, then paused when she received no response. "Highness?" She leaned forward to peer over the arm of the couch and made a disgruntled noise when she realized her king was curled up into a little ball and fast asleep. "Goddess," she muttered. "It's the Sheikah in him, I swear." She glanced over at Thomas, who was also curled up and asleep. Dune offered her a wry smile.

"Actually, I believe it's a quality of youth," she said. "The ability to stay up all night if there's fun to be had, but the instant it involves work …"

"Let them be," Sahasrahla said, waving both women off. "They've both had a rough time of it and deserve a bit of rest." He studied the sleeping Hero for a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"You two know him better than I," he said. "How long do you expect him to wait before taking matters into his own hands?"

"To tell you the truth I'm surprised he's lasted this long," Dune said with a sigh. "He's impetuous at best and when he makes up his mind to do something there's little you can do to stop him. I know it drives Impa insane, anyway." Rue gave a short laugh.

"You should see Nabooru," she said, then addressed Sahasrahla. "She's right. I'm surprised as well that he hasn't already gone – not to mention that he refused to take Neesha – and it's impossible to say for sure how much longer he'll wait." She sat back in her chair and frowned down at her young King's blonde head. "But to tell you the truth I think there's something holding him back."

"What do you mean?" Sahasrahla asked, peering curiously at her. Rue cocked her head to the side as she studied Link.

"I'm not sure," she answered honestly. "He just … he lacks his usual fervour. His usual … decisiveness. He's acting … well, it reminds me of when he first came to us, however many years ago now. Before we'd rescued the Sages from Castletown. Before the United Army of Hyrule was any more than just words and ideas and hopes. He'd only just regained his memories of being the Hero of Time, and he was still uncertain of himself. Ah," she said. "That's it. He is uncertain. I haven't seen that in him for a while, and I have to admit it concerns me that it is there now."

"He does seem rather sure of himself most of the time," Sahasrahla agreed. "It's been a while since we've had a hero of such candour."

"Candour," Dune said wryly, "doesn't even begin to describe our Hero."

"Well, at any rate," Sahasrahla said, leaning back in his chair, "I believe Rue is right to be concerned. I've had little more than an observational role in the lives of the last few Heroes to be sure, but what I have observed is that whatever their individual failings, the instincts of a Hero are not to be doubted. If Link is feeling uncertain in a situation in which he would normally be quite certain, it is likely a cause for concern for us all." As though to punctuate the mage's words, Link made a small, unhappy sound and turned his face further into the cushion of the couch, in the grip of some unfriendly dream they could only wonder at.

"Do you really think the children might be in the Dark World?" Dune asked after a moment, looking distinctly unhappy with the thought. Neither Sahasrahla nor Rue looked any happier.

"I think," Sahasrahla said plainly, "that it is a strong possibility. It would account for the Sages being unable to sense the Sage of Forest. It would account for our inability to locate the missing maidens. It would account for Thomas' description of the sending Agahnim is using. It answers all of our questions."

"Except one," Rue said grimly. "How do we get them back? The Dark World is no easy place to access. The Seals the Sages have placed have effectively limited our ability to travel back and forth between the worlds, and even if they hadn't who would _want_ to?"

"We might not have a choice but to figure out a way," Dune says darkly. "If it's true, then the only way to close up the portals again is to rescue the maidens, and if they're in the Dark World …"

"But there's no way through," Sahasrahla mused. "Not for us. Agahnim's spell will have only bent the seals, not broken them. He can allow things out, but I'd bet my life he hasn't left us a way in. He will have bent them on the inside only. To get in from the outside you'll still need to meet the requirements."

"Requirements?" Dune asked.

"Purity and power," Rue responded with a sigh. "Maiden sages. _Good_ maiden sages. An evil maiden is evil still, and her purity is tainted. Those were the conditions set on the seals by the Sages when they were made." Dune made a face.

"Why set conditions at all?" She demanded.

"Because you have to," murmured a sleepy voice from her side. She blinked and looked down at Thomas who yawned widely and rubbed his eyes. "Magic is made to be broken, the same way cages are made to be unlocked. Spells are structured with locks that require specific keys to break them, that's just the way it is." Rue and Sahasrahla both gave him an appraising look as he pulled himself up into a seated position.

"That's correct," Rue said, looking minorly impressed with him. "The Sages _had_ to put conditions on it – there was no way not to – so they picked something that would not be attainable by anything within the dark world that we didn't want coming out. It's the same reason why Agahnim _had_ to create a way to break the spell shielding the Master Sword. Why he made the pendants. The spell requires a … key, as your son put it." She raised an eyebrow at Thomas. "Where did you learn that, boy?"

"Agahnim," Thomas responded quietly. "It was one of the first things he taught me. How long have I been asleep for?"

"Long enough," Dune answered easily. "Did we wake you?" Thomas shook his grey head.

"No, no," he said, yawning again. "I just … don't sleep much any more." Dune frowned and squeezed his arm tightly.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mum, I'm fine," he said, shooting an embarrassed look at Rue and Sahasrahla. "I'm …" He paused when his eyes strayed to Link's unhappy form. "Is he all right?" The others turned to survey the Hero who appeared to have been worse off than he was a few minutes before. He'd broken out in a cold sweat and his face was twisted as though in pain. Thomas blinked in surprise. "Where are his pants?"

"He didn't come with any. Rue, maybe you should wake him up," Dune suggested. Rue nodded and reached out to shake him awake, but it proved unnecessary. Before her hand had even touched him, he woke himself up, throwing himself violently off the couch with a gasp and an oath when he hit the ground. He clutched the back of his head and curled up into a ball on the floor.

"Nayru, Farore and Din," he snarled. The other all exchanged a surprised glance.

"Highness?" Rue said hesitantly. Link gasped and started, twisting into a seated position and giving her a startled, wide-eyed stare, as though he'd been unaware that there were other people in the room.

"Rue?" He demanded. He made a face and fell back onto his back, rubbing his face hard. "Goddess."

"Link are you all right?" Dune asked, concern in her voice.

"No," he returned in a voice of abject misery. "I'm really not."

"Anything we can do?" She asked.

"Don't think so," he said with a groan as he pulled himself back up and to his feet, dropping himself back onto the couch. "No wait, I take that back," he said. "You can make sure I don't fall asleep again."

***

She was soaked to the skin and breathing hard by the time she made it to the stables. The horses who weren't asleep all looked up as she slipped in the door, nickering softly and flattening their ears at the sudden flash of lightning through the crack in the door. She paused a moment to wipe the water out of her face before continuing, suddenly glad for the thick Sheikan uniform she wore – though she'd never admit it out loud. The uniform that had formerly belong to Bel (or Mel. Wasn't like she could tell the difference). The way she figured it, they owed her anyway. If it hadn't been for her they would still be blindly following Agahnim's orders. The least they could do would be to give her their uniform – whether knowingly or unknowingly – in return.

She could have asked, she supposed, and truth be told she'd considered it … any other time they likely would have agreed. But they were in way too much trouble as it was and she doubted even the irrepressible twins would be willing to shake things up this soon.

So she'd just stolen it. She'd need it more than they would anyway. It wasn't like she could just waltz into Castletown dressed like a Gerudo; they'd arrest her on the spot and then Agahnim would have her and that would be the end of it. She wasn't stupid. So she would disguise herself as a Sheikah and make things that much easier on herself.

Not that she was making anything easy.

She was in _so_ much trouble when she was found out.

She just prayed that it would be too late by the time anyone found out to do anything about it.

She came to a stop at the end of the stables. Two long rows of purebred Gerudo horses lived under this roof. Two long rows of powerful, black perfection, unmarred except for the very last stall, which had no door at Link's insistence. In this stall was nothing but a little reddish coloured mare who the Gerudo had made merciless fun of when she had first claimed this stall for her own.

They hadn't laughed for long, however.

Epona and Link had single-handedly outrun every horse in this stable, and that was saying something. If – _when_ Link came after her, she wouldn't be able to outrun him.

So she had to make sure she was well on her way before he came after her.

Epona blinked down at Neesha with large, chocolate coloured eyes and whinnied hopefully at her.

"Shhh," she hissed, quietly releasing the latch on the stall beside Epona's; this one held a horse already outfitted with a saddle and the rest of its tack. There were always a few kept ready in case of a Moblin raid or other reason they might be needed. "Link's not coming, all right? I'm by myself." She rolled her eyes at herself for even bothering to talk to the beast, but Link always did and it was hard not to pick up his inane habits. "He'll come for you later." She slipped inside the stall and patted the horse's nose distractedly before pulling her bag out from under her cloak and fastening it to the saddle. She pushed her hood back and sighed, grabbing the elastic in her hair and pulling it out in one smooth motion.

Ponytails, she knew for a fact, were not 'in style' in Castletown at the moment. The Hylians preferred to wear their hair down and in their face and tangled all around them so it could hamper all your movement and keep you from doing anything useful with yourself. She hastily ran her fingers through it – wishing briefly, but fervently that she was an elite so at least it would be short and simple instead of half-way down her back – and then shoved it back under her hood.

Oh if Hunter could see her now.

She grabbed the horse's reigns and led him out of the stall, ignoring Epona's whinny (a whinny which sounded distinctly jealous) as she went. She walked out of the stables, pulling the horse behind her, then shut the door as quietly as she had opened it. She would have to be careful with the horse until they were past the storm – she couldn't make him run, or he might break a leg in the mud if they strayed off the beaten path – but once they were in the clear …

She had been told she couldn't go with Link and the others when they went to Castletown and she was technically obeying that. Going _ahead of_ wasn't going _with_. _Waiting for_ wasn't _accompanying_. She pulled herself up onto the horse's back, ignoring the rain that was already in her face again.

She was risking a lot by doing this; judging by the sudden crack of thunder the sky and storm agreed.

This was going to hold her back as far as making the White. This would hold her back _years_. You needed to be disciplined to be a member of the Elite, and sneaking out in the middle of the night, disguised as a Sheikah, and going against the implied orders of the King and Nabooru would not be seen as disciplined.

But some things, Neesha knew, came before her own ambitions.

Some things were worth it.

She dug her heels into the horses flank and urged it on, into the night.

There was no looking back now.

***

##  **Chapter 11 (cont.)**

"What is it?" I ask, taking the bundle carefully from Sahasrahla.

"A mirror that reflects things you might not see otherwise," he answers.

"Like the Eye of Truth?" I ask, unwrapping it carefully. Sahasrahla raises an eyebrow.

"You know of the Eye of Truth, do you?" He asks. "An old and powerful item that." I throw him a grin.

"Know of it?" I ask. "I own it at the moment, actually." He looks surprised for a moment, then laughs.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he says. "To answer your question, no. Not really like the Eye of Truth – supposing of course the Eye of Truth does what it is rumoured to do."

"Let's me see things otherwise hidden by magic."

"Well," Sahasrahla says. "The mirror won't help you see through magic. What it shows you instead is a glimpse inside your nature." A troubled look passes his face. "Once upon a time it showed good things. It would reflect all of your virtues back at you. But for the last two decades or so it's shown the opposite." I pull the mirror out and admire the back of it. It's silver, with intricate little engravings around the edges and down the handle. The symbol of the Sheikah stares unblinkingly from the centre of it. It's beautiful, but unsettling. I don't know why, but it makes me feel reluctant to turn it over.

"Should I look?" I ask him. He makes a neutral gesture.

"The choice is yours, Hero," he says, "but I warn you now that most people find the image displayed upsetting. It will show you a dark side of yourself that you may or may not be able to come to terms with. Some people have, and some people haven't. Your father couldn't so much as look at the mirror after looking into it."

"What did he see?" I ask, tracing the Sheikan eye without turning the mirror over.

"I don't know," Sahasrahla answers. "He never said, and I never asked. It's a very personal thing, and nobody's business but his."

"Dark Link," I say without so much as a doubt. "I bet you any money it was Dark Link, he saw." I shake my head. "No wonder he couldn't look at it."

I hesitate for just a moment before setting the mirror back down and wrapping it up again without so much as glancing at the glass.

"There's a piece missing," Rue says, sharp-eyed as ever despite her age. "There's a little round depression on the front of it."

"Ah yes," Sahasrahla says, holding up his hands to stop me as I move to hand it back. "No, no, my boy. You keep it for now. It may come in handy for you in the future." He turns back to Rue. "The mirror originally had a Moon Pearl set into it, but its been lost for centuries."

"A moon pearl!" Rue says, eyes alight suddenly. "I didn't think such things still existed!"

"So far as I know it's the only one that hasn't been expended for spells of one kind or another," Sahasrahla replies. "Though even that isn't guaranteed, as I've said, I lost it a long time ago." Rue snorts derisively.

"How do you _lose_ a Moon Pearl, old man?" She demands. "One of that size would have been worth more than you've earned even in a lifetime as long as yours."

"What's a Moon Pearl?" Thomas asks, a hint of his old eagerness playing around his eyes.

"It's a jewel of incredible power," Sahasrahla answers him. "They can be used for magic spells that require more power than any mortal could ever give, they can be used to resist magical effects, to enhance them, to block them. Just having one can protect you from all sorts of things."

"Where do they come from?" Thomas asks. "How come I've never heard of them before?"

"They're rare," Sahasrahla answers. "More than rare – they may very well be non-existent by now. And each one is unique unto itself. There hasn't been one recorded since I lost mine however long ago. As for where they come from, well," he leaned back in his chair, "there's an old Hylian legend that says they dropped from the moon aeons ago – hence the name. There's a Sheikan legend that says they're actually the tears which Farore shed when the first of her creations died. So great was her grief that even her tears carried the desire to protect the life she had so carefully cultivated – which is apparently why any who possess one are so well protected against any variety of things which might otherwise cause death." Rue nods.

"The Gerudo have a similar myth," she says. "Though it's all nonsense. No one knows how or why the Moon Pearls were created."

"What did this Moon Pearl do?" Dune asks. Sahasrahla hesitated.

"Suffice it to say," he says, "the mirror used to do more than just show you your inner nature – dark or otherwise. And the Moon Pearl used to be the key to those powers. But … without the jewel there's no point in me going into the other uses for the mirror – they're complicated, and impossible now anyway."

"Why give the mirror to me?" I ask, peering quizzically at the bundle. "Not that I'm not grateful, it's just … why?" Sahasrahla heaves a heavy sigh.

"The easy answer is simply that you are the Hero of Time, and such artefacts are usually most useful in the hands of one such as you – as evidenced by the overwhelming number of artefacts you seem to possess."

"And the hard answer?" I ask, staring intently at him. He sighs again.

"The hard answer," he says, "is that if it is as we fear, and Agahnim has sent the maidens to the Dark World, then you may soon be needing a reminder of … well … of a lot of things."

His answer is cryptic and impenetrable and sets my stomach into a complicated series of loop-de-loops, but I don't question him further. I'm in a dour enough mood without trying to decipher any depressing riddles.

"Right," I say. "Well, thanks, I guess. I'll slip it into my pouch whenever I go back to my room. I'm sure it'll come in handy."

"At any rate," Sahasrahla says, getting wearily to his feet. "The sun will be up in a few hours, and I'm an old man who needs his rest. We'll accomplish little else tonight except to run in the same circles we have been, so we'd best all get to bed. Rue, my dear, would you mind showing me where my room is? Your fortress is a tad … confusing at times."

"Everything is confusing when you're senile," Rue sniffs. "And no. Dune can show you. You know where it is?"

"I think so," Dune says, getting to her feet with a nod, Thomas following suit. "It's right near ours."

"Thank you, m'dear," Sahasrahla says, gesturing for her to lead the way. Dune does and they all file out, one by one, wishing us a good night (though good morning is perhaps more appropriate) as they go. I turn to Rue once the door is shut.

"What about you?" I ask. "Aren't you tired?"

"No more tired than you look." I pause.

"I look awful, don't I?" I ask. She nods.

"Absolutely terrible," she agrees.

"Then why don't you go to bed?" I say. "You don't need to stay up."

"But you do?" She asks, a shrewd expression on her face. "I am wondering why? It has been a while since your dreams have been as violent as that last appeared to be. And if the fact that you were up and wandering around the halls in a dazed stupor is any indication, I'd say it's not the first you've had tonight. Is something, wrong Highness?"

"Not really," I answer evasively. Rue raises an eyebrow.

"Old and tired, I may be, Highness," she observes, "but I _will_ beat it out of you if that's what it takes." I meet her gaze for a moment and consider my options.

I can tell her nothing, in which case she likely will proceed to try and beat it out of me – if nothing else, this route will keep me awake.

I can tell her everything (I'm pretty sure Agahnim's sending me nightmares, Thomas says he's setting some kind of trap for me, I have an overwhelming feeling that something is going to go wrong, etc.), in which case she would be pretty much honour-bound (not to mention she'd be pretty stupid not to) to go straight to the Sages, explain everything, and then proceed, for my own protection, to lock me up with Neesha and not let me anywhere near Agahnim – this route gets me absolutely nothing.

I can tell her half, in which case she might actually be able to help me with the nightmares, and assuage my fears about what's to come, without really needing to know that Agahnim's waiting to spring some kind of trap on me – this route would seem to be my best bet. I swallow my hesitation.

"I think … is it possible to give someone nightmares through magic?" I ask. "From a distance?" Rue raises an eyebrow.

"You suspect the wizard is tampering with your dreams?" I nod. She frowns. "Are you sure they are not of the prophetic nature? You've had such in the past when the situation is dire."

"I'm sure," I say. "I … those are repetitive. They never really change. These ones … they're different every time, but always … always bad."

"And you're sure they aren't just bad dreams brought on by stress and worry and concern?"

"Yes," I say. "I'm sure. They're not mine." Rue's frown deepens.

"He is a _very_ powerful wizard if he is infecting your dreams from this distance," she says. "But yes, it possible." She leans back in her chair and frowns thoughtfully. "He is perhaps trying to limit your effectiveness by denying you sleep. A clumsy plan at best, though I suppose given your stubborn nature it would have a decent chance of success." She looks unhappy with that answer, but I'd rather she not pursue that line of thinking any further than she already has.

"Well, at the rate I'm going it's going to work," I say quickly. "I can barely keep my eyes open, but if I fall asleep, it'll only be for a few minutes before I'm awake again." I suppress a shudder. "And I can't take much more of those dreams." Rue considers for a moment.

"Well," she says, "powerful he may be, but he's no match for a sleeping draught, I'm sure. Not in this case, anyway." I blink at her.

"You mean you can fix it?" I ask. "I won't dream?"

"You'll be too far into deep sleep for dreams to trouble you, highness," she says. "But not much will wake you either until it's worn off." I lean over and give her an impulsive hug, awkward because of the angle, but genuine nonetheless. She rolls her eyes, gives an annoyed sigh, and pats my head with reluctant affection, like she always does whenever I display any kind of outward attachment to her. I pull back and grin at her.

"You're the best," I say. She offers me a rare half-smile.

"I know," she says.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Marni froze with her hand on the servants' path door.

She had tossed and turned all night over what the Princess had told her. That Agahnim was evil, that the Princess was in danger, that she needed Marni to give something to Sir Link … a part of her was excited – it was like something out of an adventure novel, really. Evil wizards, damsels in distress, secret messages – but another part of her was scared out of her wits. This _wasn't_ an adventure novel. And even if it was, she was hardly the heroine, and was in fact, just the messenger, and if life imitated art at all (and she was reasonably sure it did) then she would be one of the first to die in some tragic, upcoming battle, and although it would be sort of romantic to die while trying to do something for her kingdom and her princess, the fact of the matter was she really didn't want to die, and if she did who would take care of Cota?

She always had been 9 parts hopeless romantic, 1 part practical, and sometimes the practical just ruined everything.

It didn't change her decision to help the princess, it just turned her stomach into knots and ruined whatever enjoyment she might have had from actually _being_ in one of the situations she'd always day dreamed about. It liked to remind her that she wasn't anything special, she was just a servant girl, and what could she possibly hope to contribute to the affairs of wizards and princesses and heroes, exactly?

But she really didn't have a choice – not and be able to live with herself.

So she had resolved to see it through. First thing in the morning she would bundle Cota up and send him off to some distant relations in Kakariko, and then she would go bring the Princess her breakfast, pick up the parchment for Link, and pretend everything was normal until he came. Once she'd given him the parchment she would leave as well, straight for Kakariko, and she wouldn't come back until Princess Zelda was on the throne again, and the events that belonged in her daydreams had once again fled reality and rooted themselves firmly in her dreams once more and she could go back to being 9 parts hopeless romantic.

But she couldn't leave without warning Liam about Agahnim. Oh, she wouldn't tell him about the Princess, or the parchment, or her plans to leave, or any of that. But she liked Liam, he'd always been nice to her and there was once a time when she'd thought he may have even been kind of sweet on her, and she couldn't stand the thought of him being manipulated by Agahnim. Maybe if he _knew_ that Agahnim was evil …

And that was more or less what had brought her to the door that led out into the hallway near Liam's room at somewhere near 3 o'clock in the morning. She had planned on waking him up and talking with him and hopefully bringing him around, but through the door she could hear his voice, and for some reason, she froze. Something stayed her hand – some chill of the air, some feeling of imminent danger, some buried alive instinct left over from the times when people were little more than animals that set the hair on her arm to rising and a shiver running down her back.

There was danger here.

She froze, and she listened.

Liam was speaking.

"I will have the Princess moved to your chambers first thing in the morning," he was saying. "Will you need anything for your preparations?"

"No," answered a voice that sounded like Agahnim – though it wasn't anywhere near the wizard's usual dulcet, charming, smooth tones. This voice was dry, and dusty, and sounded the way a dead thing smelled. Marni's stomach clenched at the sound and a thrill of fear shot like electricity through her body. She held her breath, terrified they'd know she was there. "Only time. The Hero will arrive tomorrow. I don't know when, my vision was not that specific, but it will take some time for me to prepare the spell. If he arrives early, see to it that he does not make it to my chambers until I have given you word that I am ready."

"Yes master," Liam said. Marni felt something twinge in her heart. Liam had called Agahnim master. Why had he said that? Agahnim's title was Lord, not Master.

"Who has seen the princess? Who knows she is down there?"

"Only myself and the servant girl who brings her meals."

"Good," Agahnim says. "Bring the Princess to my chambers in the morning. Make sure none see you. Wait for the servant girl tomorrow and when she comes get rid of her." There was a brief pause.

"But … she doesn't know …"

"Liam," Agahnim snapped, "do not question me. Kill the girl. We will blame it on the Hero when he comes." There was no pause this time.

"Yes master."

That something that twinged in Marni's heart at the sound of Liam calling him master broke this time and it took all her strength to keep her knees from buckling. She covered her mouth with her free hand to hold back a sob.

Liam and Agahnim moved on down the hall, discussing other things which Marni neither heard, nor cared about. She pulled her hand back from the knob and stumbled back into the wall of the servants' paths.

Liam was going to kill her.

Just like that.

Because Agahnim had told him to.

She sank down in the hallway and hugged her knees tightly to her chest, burying her face in them, chocking back her sobs but unable to stop the tears.

What was she going to do?

Run, that's what she had to do. She had to run straight back home, wake up Cota, get him in his things, grab whatever they could carry, and run. There were no wagons going in and out at this time of night, so they'd have to walk. She could lie to the guard at the gate to make them put it down for her. Tell them their mother in Kakariko was sick or something and they had to go. She didn't know where they'd go from there. They'd find her in Kakariko. They'd find her anywhere, except the desert of course, that was out of their reach, and the Gerudo would never take her in.

Her eyes snapped open at that thought.

The Gerudo … Sir Link … the Princess …

Her breath began to come in short, quick gasps.

She had to deliver the Princess' parchment. She had promised she would. She had _promised_ her _princess_. For generations her family had served the Royal Family … she was _bound_ to the Princess Zelda, she _had_ to help! She couldn't just abandon her Princess! That would be betrayal of a worse sort than Liam agreeing to kill her in cold blood.

She would shame her whole family.

She would betray all of Hyrule.

"But I'm just a girl," she whispered to herself. "I'm just a girl and he's going to kill me. This is too much, it's too dangerous! I'm not … I'm not a hero. I have to … I have to …" Her voice trailed off.

She had to what? Run and hide? And just let the Princess, and Link, and everyone else be hurt by the wizard? Let Agahnim … let Agahnim just take over? What would happen to Hyrule if Agahnim won? If Link and Zelda and everything good and right in the world failed, all because a stupid little girl got scared and ran away? Why kind of world would it be?

A dark one, that's what. One she didn't want Cota to have to live in.

Cota …

How would she explain to him, years from now, when they were all under Agahnim's rule and the world was an awful, frightening place where old friends killed people they had once cared about, and good people were locked up in dungeons, and heroes were treated like criminals, that it was her fault? Because she hadn't been brave enough?

_There comes a time in your life_ , her father used to say to her before he died, _when you are faced with a choice – the choice of who you are, and who you're going to be. It won't be an easy one, Marni, it never is, but you'll have to make it just the same. And you'll have to live with it. You won't know when, you won't know how, but you'll know it when you see it, and you won't get a second chance. All you can do, is choose your path, and walk it. And if you choose right, you'll walk it with your head held high and purpose in your step and all the world will know you for the person you have chosen to be – the person you are._

She liked to imagine in her darkest moments that he was with her still, leaning over her shoulder and guiding her. This was one of those times, and this, she knew, was her choice.

_Who are you, Marni?_ She could hear him ask. _Choose. Who are you?_

"I am Marni," she whispered to herself, "daughter of Cam and Rhea of Hyrule, sister to Cota, and loyal to none but the Royal Family of Hyrule." She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, wiping her face with a trembling hand.

Her original plan could still work. She would go to the princess now, get the parchment, then get Cota bundled up and ready to leave first thing in the morning. She would hide somewhere and wait for Sir Link and then leave, just like she'd planned.

And if Liam caught her? If they found out what she was doing? They were willing to kill her without even knowing what she'd agreed to. What would they do to her if they found _that_ out?

_Choose your path, and walk it with your head held high._

She took the first, trembling step towards the dungeons and the princess and whatever fate awaited her there, and though they never got any less frightening, each one after that was easier than the previous.

She had chosen her path.

She could only hope it was the right one.


	12. To Hell

#  **Chapter 12 and Interludes**

_"Reveal not every secret you have to a friend, for how can you tell but that friend may hereafter become an enemy. And bring not all mischief you are able to upon an enemy, for he may one day become your friend."_

—Saadi—

_"This is one shrew you cannot tame.  
I am woman, see me game."_

—Scott Kurtz, PvP Online—

##  **Chapter 12**

"Highness, _think_ about this for a minute!"

"There's nothing to think about," I respond curtly, tying my gear tightly to Epona's saddle at a speed just short of panic. "Neesha's gone, you can't find her, she's not in the fortress."

"She may just be … hiding," Amplissa tries desperately. "Maybe we just haven't found her yet. She _was_ pretty put out with you."

"She's not hiding. You would have found her."

"You don't know—"

"There's a horse and all the associated gear missing," I say. "Mysteriously vanished in the middle of the night, did it?"

"Maybe … one of the girls …"

"Bel's _uniform_ went missing!" I cry. "And nobody's owning up to taking it!"

"They might be lying."

"I _ordered_ whoever it was to bring it back. No one did. Are you honestly telling me one of the Gerudo would steal a _Sheikan_ uniform then not give it to me when I ordered them to?"

"I …"

"So logically, we can assume that whoever stole it, wasn't in the fortress as of first thing this morning when I made the order before Bel and Mel and the rest of the Sheikah left, correct?"

"I…"

"So logically, since Neesha was the _only_ Gerudo not in the fortress first thing this morning, or at any other point today, Neesha is the one who stole it. Why, you might ask, would Neesha steal a Sheikan uniform? Well she's obviously going somewhere where a Gerudo uniform wouldn't be welcome, like, say, Castletown. And how will she get there? She'll obviously need a horse, right?"

"Then I'm coming too!" Amplissa explodes finally. "And so are the others!"

"No, you are not," I say flatly, pulling Epona's reigns into my hand and glaring at Amplissa who's blocking my exit out of the stall. "You'll only slow me down, Amplissa. I'm faster on my own, and besides, I'll be taking the Lost Doors, and I'm not hauling the whole Elite through them so I can randomly lose some of you to the Lost Woods. The Deku Tree protects that place for a reason, and there's only so much he'll allow, even for me. Besides, I need you here in case of more Moblin raids. And Nabooru may need you when she gets back."

"Nabooru's going to flay me when she gets back if I let you leave without an escort!" Amplissa cries. " _You're_ going to need us!"

" _I_ am going as the Hero of Time, not the King of the Gerudo," I say flatly. "And I should have left forever ago. I never should have hesitated as long as I have. I'm done with it."

"But … what about the Sages? You're supposed to wait for—"

"They know where I'm going. They can meet me there once they're done. They've got their own problems to worry about right now. Hyrule's their concern, not me. Feel free to remind them of that for me as well before letting them come ripping after me. They can handle the Moblins, I'll handle Agahnim."

"Agahnim's going to handle you!" Amplissa cries.

"Get out of the way, Amplissa."

"No." She sets her feet and crosses her arms, face twisting into an expression of unmovable stubbornness.

"Get. Out. Of. The. Way."

"No. At least wait for Rue to get here."

"Rue is only going to repeat the same things you have, and I'll just be wasting that much more time. Now move, or I'm going through you. If I want to go, Amplissa, you can't stop me, and you know it." She remains stubbornly where she is.

"At least let us come with you to whatever the Hell Lost Door you're heading for." We glare at each other. "I'm not moving until you give us at least that," she says flatly. "You'll have to run me over and I know you don't want to do that." I narrow my eyes at her.

"You've got five minutes to round up whatever White you can and get them on horses. I'll be at the mouth of the road to Hyrule Fields. I'm leaving in five minutes with or without you, and I'm not waiting for anyone." Amplissa gives a curt bow, then turns on her heel and rips out of the stables, screaming for the Elite. I pat Epona's neck.

"Let's go, girl," I say, leading her out of the stall and into the painfully bright afternoon sun. It's like the day is trying to make up for last night's storm. I'm sweltering in my winter gear, but I don't care. It won't take me long to get out of the desert and it's going to be freezing when I do. I climb up on Epona once we're out of the stables, offer a reassuring smile to the purple at the door who no doubt heard every word exchanged between Amplissa and I and is now looking concerned, then nudge Epona down towards the path out. She takes it at a trot, but even in that I can feel her urge to run. We haven't really let loose in a while, and I know she can sense my urgency.

I pull her up short beneath the wooden plaque engraved with the Gerudo symbol that hangs over the canyon leading back towards Hyrule. Just as I'm getting ready to leave without anyone, seven Elite on horseback come ripping around the corner, Amplissa at their head. Epona whinnies excitedly at the sight of the other horses galloping towards us and she requires no urging to turn around and face down the canyon.

"We need to fly, Epona," I tell her. "Like the wind. YAH!"

She leaps ahead into a gallop, the Elite pounding the ground at our flanks …

… and we fly.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Neesha stared up at the back of the archery shop with an odd sort of feeling in her gut. Sentimentality of any kind annoyed her, and she took a malicious sort of pleasure in mercilessly making fun of Hunter and Link whenever they gave in to such frivolous, useless things – as they often did. Two more sentimental fools you wouldn't find – unless of course you included their girlfriends, but that was another type of annoyance entirely. Men she expected to be sentimental. They were, after all, the weaker sex. It more than annoyed her that the women of Hyrule were more often than not twice as sentimental as the men. It horrified her, as a matter of fact.

The fact that such an apparently weak race of people managed to consistently thwart her own stuck a massive blow to her Gerudo pride any time she thought on it.

But then, she supposed, there were exceptions to every rule.

Hunter and Link could be sentimental, pacifistic, and soft as a day old kitten on any given day, and yet neither of them were weak by any means. The logical ramifications of this were that maybe sentimentality and its ilk didn't necessarily make a person weak for feeling them.

But that fact didn't make Neesha feel any stronger now that she was staring at the back of the archery shop and drowning under a wave of sudden and powerful memory.

How many times had she and Link and Hunter stood here at all hours of the night, staring up at the shop and debating the best way to sneak back in without waking up Brayden or Bruiser?

She pushed open the back gate and slipped into the yard with a furtive glance around to make sure no one was watching. She stopped for a moment to stare around the yard at the perfect, unmolested snow.

How many winter mornings had they woken up after a fresh snowfall with Link and Hunter whipping around the house in a totally unnecessary state of over-excitement, making too much noise and fuss as though they were all a couple of five-year-olds, amusing Brayden and annoying the Hell out of Bruiser and she both, but ultimately dragging them out into the snow by the end of the whole ordeal anyway?

She forced herself forward through the deep snow, covering the walk up to her knees. Bruiser would be rolling over in his grave if he knew the walk wasn't shovelled, and the snow had been allowed to pile up on the roof, and the shop hadn't been swept, and it wasn't even open and they were losing business left right and centre.

She could see him, as she pulled off her glove and slipped her key out of her pocket. He would shake his head and gather all four of them – she, Link, Hunter, and Brayden – into the kitchen and start pacing and shouting about them letting it slip, waving his arms in the air, occasionally pounding a table. He'd go on about their irresponsibility and everything else, while Link and Hunter made faces at his back whenever he had it turned and Brayden would sit there and blatantly rolls his eyes at his brother, and she would try her damndest to maintain what Link and Hunter had dubbed her "Gerudo face" with the two of them making faces like that and trying to make her laugh and after it was over Bruiser would give up and storm out and they'd all feel guilty suddenly and pitch in to clean up the shop and suck up whenever he got back.

She ground her teeth and bolstered her annoyance against the sudden twist of the feeling in her gut and she forced the key into the lock and turned it.

She would _not_ be sentimental.

She would _not_ give in to nostalgia.

She would _not_ mourn a life that seemed far removed from her current situation and which she could never really go back to.

Bruiser was dead. The Archery Shop was closed indefinitely. These were things she could not change, and so should not waste her time wishing it was otherwise.

Hunter was _not_ dead. Zelda was _not_ dead. Malon and the others were _not_ dead. Those, she could do something about. But not if she lost herself to memory and sentimentality. Not if she gave in to weakness.

She unlocked the door, casting one last furtive glance at the backyard and making sure no one had seen her. The trail she'd left in the snow gave her a moment's pause, but it wouldn't be long before Link came after her – the sun was at its zenith. It wouldn't take him long to realize where she'd gone and he wouldn't waste any time in chasing her down. If he took the routes available to him and only him (and between the Lost Doors and his Ocarina there were plenty) he'd be there by sunset at the latest – she only had to wait a few hours. She could handle whatever the Hylians decided to throw at her in the space of those few hours.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside, but paused with her hand still on the doorknob. Her eyes narrowed and she scanned the room quickly. There should have been weeks worth of dust on everything, but it was all clean. The floor had been swept, the kitchen table had been wiped down recently with a wet cloth, the sink was still wet, and a million other little indications that the house wasn't as empty as it should have been. Her face twisted into a scowl.

No one should have intruded into this place save those to which it belonged, and she would be damned if she'd let such a transgression pass without punishment.

She slid the door shut silently and dropped into a crouch to undo her heavy winter boots, unthreading the laces quickly and quietly and slipping out of them. A floorboard creaked upstairs and her eyes narrowed further. She unbuttoned her coat and slipped it off, setting it gently on the floor, then following suit with the rest of her winter gear. She slid across the kitchen and over to the stairs in her sock feet, pleased despite herself with how quiet her stolen Sheikan uniform was.

She crept silently up the stairs, avoiding any planks she knew to be particularly noisy (the ones Link always _inevitably_ managed to step on when they were trying to sneak in at the wee hours of the morning) and cautiously peered around the corner and into the room she had shared with Hunter and Link.

Pacing back and forth in the room and worrying her hands, her long skirts sweeping the ground, with each motion she made, was the last person Neesha had expected to see there. She stared at the figure incredulously for a moment, then bit back a groan and pulled herself back around the corner.

What in the Goddess' name was going on? Why was that Marni girl in the Archery Shop? How did she get in? What the Hell did she think she was doing?

Neesha scowled and considered her options. She was wanted twice over in Castletown – once for being a Gerudo, twice for being the particular Gerudo which she just happened to be. Her face was plastered on wanted posters all over the goddess damned town (she'd forgotten about those when she'd made the hasty decision to come here. That had made getting in and getting a stable a little more difficult than it should have been). Marni might turn her in.

Marni might _try_ to turn her in.

The girl was no threat, of that much Neesha was certain. She was slow of speed and wit, and easily intimidated – a fact to which Neesha could personally attest. But on the other hand, she had been fanatically loyal to Link – as fanatically as any servant could be at any rate. She had never failed to side with Link (or even Neesha on occasion, the teenaged Gerudo was forced to admit, despite how mean she could be to the girl) in any fights or debates they had gotten into at the palace. She would have been genuinely surprised if Marni had jumped on the let's-all-hate-the-same-people-we-loved-two-days-ago band wagon that the rest of Hyrule seemed to have.

 _This is dumb,_ she decided finally with a sigh. _I'm wasting time sitting here and wondering. There's only one way to find out, now isn't there?_ So she rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the wall and around the corner, no longer trying to be silent or hidden.

Marni didn't notice. She continued to pace back and forth frantically in the little room, wringing her hands and occasionally making an unhappy noise. Neesha's scowl darkened.

 _Goddess damned Hylians_! She thought derisively. _How, how,_ how _did they ever beat us? Farore! I could have killed her by now!_

"Hey!" She snapped, putting one hand on her hip and glaring forward. "You!" Marni gasped, jumped, and whirled around with a little scream. The next instant she spotted the Sheikan uniform and all the color drained from her face as her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell backwards in a faint.

She hit the ground with a thud and Neesha stared dully at her prone form, struggling valiantly with the urge to beat her head off the wall.

 _Oh_ how she hated Hylians.

***

##  **Chapter 12 (cont.)**

There is something liberating in the combination of an open plain laid bare before you and riding hell-for-leather across the dunes of snow, heedless of the wind and the cold and whatever dark fate may await you at the end of your flight. Some infinite freedom in the power and the speed and the unrestrained thrill that runs through you at each beat of the hooves.

This is escape.

This is independence.

This is _life_.

And it feels like death to have to pull on Epona's reigns and slow her to a reluctant stop in the shadow of Lon Lon Ranch. I pull myself out of her saddle and pat her neck as I work my way around her, checking for any possible problems created by the snow and cold.

"How you doing girl?" I ask through my scarf. She snorts and prances a bit, nipping after my hat. I laugh and swat her nose playfully. "You're a liar," I tell her flatly, rubbing the bridge of her nose to assuage any offence she might take (glad that Neesha isn't here to see me worrying about offending a horse). "Doesn't matter," I tell her. "I'm gonna have to head off on my own now." Epona gives an offended whinny and I sigh. "Don't you start too," I say. "Bad enough I get it from the Elite. I can't take you." I move around to pull my pack off her back. "You're a famous horse now, you know. Everybody in Castletown knows you, and it doesn't matter how low I wear my hood one look at you and they'll know who I am." Epona looks over her shoulder and nickers at me. "Yes they will," I insist. "It's not _my_ fault that you won't let anyone but me ride you. I'm the only one who ever rides you. Who else would be on your back, wearing a hood, and acting shifty?" I demand. "No one, that's who."

I swear to Din she rolls her eyes at me and turns back around. I rearrange my pack and my gear on my back, pull my cloak over it and pull my hat off, shoving it into my Kokiri Pouch. I pull my hood up over my hair and arrange it carefully so that it provides suitable cover for the half of my face that shows above my scarf. I pat Epona's neck again and offer her a smile she can't see beneath the scarf.

"Thanks for your help, girl," I tell her. "I'll call for you if I need you." She catches the lip of my hood in her teeth and pulls it down over my face. I grin and shove it back up, slapping her rump good naturedly as she turns and trots off back the way we came. I lean up against the cold stone of Lon Lon's walls and watch her go, feeling unexpectedly lonely.

It's been a while since I've been on my own like this. No Sages, no Generals, no Elite. No Neesha, no Hunter, not even Zelda's presence in the back of my mind. I don't even have Navi anymore to keep me company.

I shove my hands into my pockets with a heavy sigh and turn away from Epona's retreating form, facing Castletown instead.

Moping isn't going to get me there any faster. All I need to do to turn my mind back to the task at hand is remind myself of _why_ I'm on my own right now: because of an ugly old man named Agahnim. My face hardens and I start towards the town in the distance at a jog.

Come Hell or high water, something will change tonight.

I just wish I knew what.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Marni clutched her mug in a white-knuckled grip, and continued to stare at Neesha with wide, frightened eyes.

"Lady Neesha, why are you dressed like a Sheikah?" She asked meekly. "You frightened me so! I thought you had come to kill me!" Neesha rubbed at one temple and briefly flirted with the idea of doing just that.

"Why would a Sheikah be sent to kill you?" She demanded. "And don't call me 'Lady.' Is it because of this thing that you have for Link but won't show to me because some mysterious person told you to give it only Link? Is it because of that Marni?" Marni looked like she might start crying again and Neesha hissed in annoyance and forced herself to soften her tone – though a softened rock is still a rock when you get right down to it. "I'm wearing it because Gerudo aren't allowed in Castletown, Marni, so I disguised myself as a Sheikah, all right? I came ahead of Link and now I'm waiting for him, too." An uncomfortable silence descended between the two of them as Marni focused on her tea and Neesha idly stirred her hot chocolate.

"Your hair looks beautiful when it's down," Marni said at last. "I wish I had hair that color. You should wear it like that more often."

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Neesha muttered under her breath, then, louder: "It's part of my disguise, all right? Red hair in a pony-tail more or less screams of Gerudo around here. I'm never wearing it like this ever again."

"But you're so pretty like that! It frames your face just perfectly!" Marni insisted. "And it looks very good with your skin. It even kind of helps your disguise, because it attracts attention away from how dark you are." Marni gave her an appraising look. "You know, I bet if you let me fix it up a bit you would be—"

"Stay away from my hair," Neesha growled at her. "I don't want you to fix it up. It doesn't need to be fixed up. It's fine the way it is."

"Well, all right," Marni said, not bothering to conceal her disappointment. She studied Neesha some more. "But … what about a bit of makeup?" She asked. "Just to … well, your skin is very bronzed. I mean, it looks great, it's just … people don't have that in the winter time. Everyone will wonder. And with hair as red as that, I mean … it's just … well, no one will really believe you're a Sheikah."

"It's worked so far," Neesha ground out from between clenched teeth.

"Well of course," Marni said, "but you've been wearing a hood and a scarf all the way up to your eyes. All they had to go off of was the uniform. But once you get into a situation where you have to take the hood and scarf off …"

"No, Marni," Neesha said flatly. "No. All right? No."

"It would only be a little bit of make up," Marni said, even more meek than previously, if that was possible. "And I wouldn't really even _do_ anything to your hair, I would just … pin it back a bit at the temples, you know? So it's not in your face so badly. Maybe put a little bit of curl in it, nothing much."

"Marni!" Neesha snarled, glaring at her over her mug. "You are _not_ turning me into some vapid little Hylian! Stop! Just … shut up until Link gets here, all right?"

"But—"

"NO!"

Another long, uncomfortable silence. Marni fidgeted in her seat. Neesha clenched her teeth.

"My answer is no, Marni. N-O, no. That's it, that's all. No."

"They won't let you in as a Sheikah," Marni said finally.

"What?" Neesha demanded.

"Agahnim knows who all of the uniformed Sheikah in the palace are, and probably most of the non-uniformed ones too. The guards have been instructed not to let any more Sheikah into the palace without prior permission for security reasons." Neesha narrowed her eyes at her.

"What are you saying?" She demanded. Marni suddenly became very interested in her tea.

"Just that you won't be able to get into the palace as a Gerudo _or_ a Sheikah. Not through the normal routes anyway."

"Who said I'm going to be taking the normal routes?"

"Well why did you even bother with the Sheikah disguise if you weren't?" Marni asked. "I'm just trying to help you know." Neesha rubbed her temple wearily, fighting back a sudden surge of irritation.

"So you're saying my only way into that castle is as a vapid little Hylian." Marni looked hopeful again.

"It's only a little bit of makeup," she promised. "You won't even notice, really." Neesha stared at her. "It's for the best. It's the easiest way for you to get into the palace. No one will notice a young Hylian girl wandering around. Sheikah and Gerudo both attract attention. And I have a lovely, dark green dress that would look just _gorgeous_ on y—"

"I'm don't do dresses," Neesha growled flatly.

"Oh no, of course not," Marni said, quickly. "I'm sure we can work something out with pants."

Neesha stared at her for a moment more, then closed her eyes and looked for a minute as though she was in physical pain.

She'd always thought that when the time came to sacrifice for her circle-of-people-who-mattered it would be her safety, or her freedom, or her life … any of those she would have given without hesitation.

But this …

This was …

She moaned and dropped her head onto her arms. Marni – understanding the inherent defeat in the gesture – gave a pleased squeal that set Neesha's teeth on edge and got to her feet.

"Wonderful!" The girl chirped. "I'll go get my things and we can start right away!"

She bustled back over to the stairs and Neesha pondered suicide.

***

##  **Chapter 12 (cont.)**

"Name and business!"

"Hi!" I call brightly. "Um … is everything all right?" The guard on top of the wall frowns down at me.

"What?"

"It's just …," I gesture at the bridge, "the bridge is up. And … the sun hasn't gone down yet. I mean, granted its on its way down, it's just … normally it doesn't go up until it's down. The bridge, that is. The bridge doesn't go up until it's down. The sun I mean. The bridge doesn't go up until the sun is down. Am I making any sense here?"

"Not really, no," replies the guard amicably enough, losing his threatening tone now that he's decided I am likely harmless. "Look, where have you been man? It's been like this for a month practically."

"Well I've been in Kakariko, actually," I tell him. "I _was_ with the Gorons, of course, but you know, then that whole thing with the new Prince Regent, and the Gorons didn't like it, and they outlawed all the Hylians, and I am, of course, one of them. The Hylians. I'm a Hylian, not a Goron. Obviously. Anyway, they ran me out of Goron City, and let me tell you something, the Gorons don't run you out so much as they run you down. Have you ever seen them do that spiky thing? Man, that's scary. Not all of them can do it, of course. I think it takes a lot of practice. It's some kind of super secret technique or something, I don't really know. I wasn't a Goron and generally speaking a Goron's not going to share his super secret technique with someone who isn't a Goron." That, of course, is a blatant lie. I'm pretty sure the Gorons would share anything with anybody who asked nicely enough. "Not that it would matter if they did, I mean, it's not like anyone _but_ a Goron could do it, what with the rolling and the ball and the fast and the—"

"Well," the guard interrupts, irritated with me now, "wherever you've been, the gates go up now before sunset. For security reasons, all right? Can I please have your name and business, sir? I can't let you in without them."

"Well I'm not here on business," I reply with a frown. "Do you have to be here on business now to be allowed in? What about like … sightseers and stuff? And tourists! And people who are coming to visit family? Are they not allowed in now?"

"No, look," the guard says, "business doesn't mean _business_ , all right? It just means … it's what you're doing. Why did you come to Castletown?"

"I told you, _not_ for business."

"But for _what_ then?"

"Oh!" I say. "Oh, I get it! Sorry!" I give an embarrassed laugh. "I'm a bit slow sometimes. My Mum always used to say that to me. Li, she'd say, Li you're a bit slow sometimes."

"Is your name Li?" The guard demands, pouncing on what he no doubt hopes is useful information.

"What? No! No, no, no," I say, shaking my head. "My brother's name is Li."

"But you just said your mother used to call you Li."

"No, what I _said_ was that my mother used to say, Li, you're a bit slow sometimes."

"So you're Li, then!"

"No, my _brother_ is Li!" I insist. "See, we're twins. My mother's always been a bit farsighted. Never really could tell us apart up close, so she'd get us mixed up all the time." The other guards with him are laughing now. "She'd think I was him and he was me. It was very confusing, you know? When you're little … I mean, half the time I didn't even know who _I_ was, let alone who he was. We'd get _ourselves_ mixed up!" I offer him a conspiratorial wink. "He was a bit slower than me if you get my meaning." The guard sighs and leans forward onto the wall.

"Are you doing this on purpose sir?" He demands dully.

"Doing what on purpose?" I demand. "If you mean answering your questions, then, yes, I do believe I am. Why wouldn't I? You're just doing your job, after all, I see no reason _not_ to give you the information you're asking for."

"You haven't given me any information, sir," the guard points out.

"Certainly I have," I insist. "You asked for my name and my business and I gave them to you."

"You did not."

"Really?" I ask, blinking owlishly up at him. "Oh, well I'm sorry!" I give the exact same embarrassed laugh as I did the first time. "I'm a bit slow sometimes. My Mum always used to say that me. Li, she'd say, Li you're a bit slow sometimes." The other guards are just dying with laughter now and I stare up at them with my best befuddled expression. One of them leans over and says something I don't quite catch to the guard who throws his hands up in the air in an exasperated gesture and peers down the other side of the wall and gestures again. The next instant the bridge starts lowering with a loud cranking of gears and I smirk beneath my scarf and hood.

Everybody loves an idiot.

"Thank you very much, sir!" I call, stepping onto the bridge and working my way across, waving brightly. He gives me a half-hearted wave in return and I shove my hands into my pockets and start humming Saria's Song to myself as I wink at the guard in the booth with the bridge controls and continue on into town. The bridge goes up once more behind me, gears creaking and groaning in the cold.

It's hard to believe it's only been (give or take) a month since I was last here. It feels like so much longer. And yet, even though everything has changed, nothing had changed.

It's five o'clock and the streets are crammed with people heading home from work, like they always are. I slip into and out of the same back alleys and short cuts I've always used on my way to the Market. The same faces and buildings and streets that I grew up with are all around me.

And yet … there _are_ differences. They're slight, but they're significant all the same. There are more armed guards in the streets than there used to be. Everyone's shooting distrustful looks at anyone who they don't recognize. There's a tension trembling in the air that never used to be there.

Agahnim's paranoia has spread like poison through Castletown, infecting everything from the kid I used to pay two rupees to give Epona's coat a good brushing to the nobles on the rich side of town.

This may not be my home anymore than anywhere else is my home lately, but on some level I still consider it my turf. I know every back door and alleyway in this town. There isn't a nook, niche or cranny I haven't explored. Whether or not it _is_ my home, it _was_ my home and some part of me lives here still, just as it does in Kokiri's Forest, and in the Desert, and even to some extent in the Sheikah Caverns in Kakariko.

To see the subtle changes that Agahnim's had no right to force on even this tiny piece of my life makes me see red. Is there no part of me he hasn't touched? No section of my past, present and future that he hasn't tainted?

No.

There is not.

And it's high time I returned the favour.

I come at last to my destination – the alleyway behind the archery shop.

But first, I have to find Neesha, and if she's anywhere – I slip over to the back fence and pull it open, raising an eyebrow at the rough path torn through the snow – she's here. I shut the gate gently behind me and cast a glance around. No one's nearby. Everyone's at home and busying themselves with supper. The sun has sunk beneath the city line and a red twilight has settled on the world. I spend a moment trying to decide whether that's a good omen or a bad omen before arbitrarily deciding that I don't believe in omens in order to spare myself the mental trauma inherent in that line of thinking, then turn around and follow Neesha's path to the door.

I know it was her.

Who else would come to an abandoned Archery Shop?

I try the knob and find it locked. Grumbling in irritation to myself I reach into my Kokiri's pouch and fish around, trying to find my key somewhere in its depths. I'm so engrossed in this activity (lost in the nostalgia of such a simple but familiar ritual) that it takes me a moment to realize the door has opened of its own accord. I blink in surprise and straighten, staring in shock at the red-head in front of me.

"Um …" I manage. "I'm sorry, miss, I was …" I flounder for a moment, unable to finish. I haven't got a pre-made excuse ready. I wasn't expecting a stranger to be in my house, though truth be told she seems kind of familiar. Maybe it's the dress, I swear I've seen it before. I think Marni had one like it.

The next instant, however, mild surprise gives way to severe shock as the girl's eyes narrow and her jaw clenches in an I'm-going-to-kill-you expression that I would recognize if I was _blind_. I can feel my jaw drop and I can't even react when she reaches out and wraps a fist in my coat, jerking me roughly into the Archery Shop's kitchen and shutting the door behind me. She then proceeds to turn around and drive her fist into my stomach before I can say anything. I gasp and double-over, stumbling back into the table, still entirely too shocked to save myself from the sudden attack.

"Don't say anything!" She snarls. "Don't you dare!"

"N-Neesha!" I manage to gasp out, still staring at her with my mouth agape and my eyes as wide as they've ever been in my life. "Nayru, Farore, and Din! Neesha!"

"Shut up!" She hisses. "Shut your mouth! I'm warning you!"

"What happened?" I demand. "You look … you look …"

"Ridiculous?" Neesha demands. "Vapid? Foolish?"

"Like a girl!" I manage to finish, and just barely manage to dodge her next punch. "Oh my Goddess! How did … why did … is that makeup?"

It is.

Neesha is wearing makeup. Her cheeks and lips and eyes are coloured, making her cheekbones look a little higher, and her eyes a darker shade of blue, and her lips a little poutier, and her hair is done up into some kind of elaborate bun thing that has delicate little curls that trail down around her face and neck, and she's _wearing_ a _dress_ , and I just used the words _Neesha_ and _delicate_ in the same sentence!

Neesha!

 _My_ Neesha!

Neesha of the Gerudo!

"Shut up!" She practically shrieks, face scarlet with a combination of anger and embarrassment. "Shut up, Link! Don't you dare tell anyone!" She may look like your average Hylian girl but her eyes are blazing suddenly with the fury reserved solely for the Gerudo. " _Especially_ not Hunter! I'll kill you if you do, I mean it!" She clenches her fists. "Stop gaping at me like that!"

I shake my head twice to clear it and force my mouth shut. De-bugging my eyes is the hardest though. I rub them hard.

"Neesha … sweet merciful crap, Neesha! How, what, why?" I manage finally. "What possessed … why are you dressed like that?"

"It's a disguise," she gets out through gritted teeth.

"It's a damn good one," I say. "But what about Bel's uniform? Didn't you take that?"

"Yes."

"Ha! I _told_ Amplissa it was you! I assumed that was your disguise. Why the … uh, the getup?"

"Because according to Marni, unknown Sheikah can't get into the Palace any easier than a Gerudo could."

"Marni? What's Marni got to do with this?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" Neesha demands testily. "She wouldn't tell me. Said she had something for you and she wouldn't give it to me. She's apparently been told to deliver it to no one but you."

"Where is she?"

"Hiding upstairs," Neesha replied. "If you'd been trouble she just would have been in my way so I told her to stay up behind the false wall until I came up to get her."

" _You_ should have hidden. You're the one who's wanted." I tear my eyes away from the girl who sounds and acts like Neesha but doesn't look like Neesha and head for the stairs.

"We're both wanted apparently," Neesha replies. "There's a warrant out for Marni's arrest as well. They've accused her of stealing from the palace, but she says she hasn't and there's another reason they want her."

"What?"

"She won't tell me _that_ either," Neesha responded.

"You weren't mean to her, were you?" I demand.

"No more than usual."

"Neesha! I wish you wouldn't!"

"Well I wish I wasn't in a dress!" Neesha cries. "Life is tough! Get over it!" Her face is getting red again and I promptly decide that perhaps it would be wise to not push her right now. I think the makeup has sent her over the deep end.

But Farore do I wish Hunter was here to see this.

"Marni?" I call, stepping into my bedroom. I move over to the bunk and clamber over it to start moving the panel back. "It's all right, Marni, it's just me."

"Watch out, she might faint," Neesha grumbles in a bitter tone.

"Sir Link?" Asks a small voice from behind the wall as I finally get it to slide all the way back. Marni gives me a wide-eyed, disbelieving stare. "You're here," she breathes, as though she never really believed I would be, and abruptly buries her face in her hands and starts to cry.

Behind me Neesha throws her hands up into the air and gives an irritated snarl.

"Great!" She says. "Just great! She's crying again!"

"I'm sorry," Marni sniffles, accepting my hand up and out of the little compartment. "It's just … I've been so afraid … and I didn't know if … if you'd actually come, or how long I'd have to wait … and I was _terrified_ they'd find me!"

"Terrified who'd find you, Marni?" I ask, crawling off the bed and getting to my feet. "What's going on? Why are you hiding here?"

"Because Princess Zelda asked me to," she sniffled.

"Zelda!" Neesha and I both gasp.

"Well … I think so," Marni answers. "She was … she was disguised as a Sheikan boy, but … but she knew things that only Princess Zelda _could_ know, so I …"

"Did the boy have red eyes?" I ask. "Blonde hair and red eyes?"

"And a shawl over his face?" Neesha adds.

"Yes," Marni answers. I stare at her blankly for a minute.

"All right," I say finally, trying to force my heart back down into my ribcage. "Take a deep breath and start from the beginning…."

***

An hour later we're downstairs at the kitchen table again and staring with puzzled expressions at the parchment that Zelda went through so much to get to me.

"What is it?" Neesha demands. Marni shakes her head helplessly.

"I don't know," she says. "I really don't. She didn't tell me anything. Just that I had to get it to Sir Link." I scratch my head and frown.

"Why would she send me this?"

It's a map of Hyrule, only not like any other map of Hyrule I've ever seen. Everything's all weird on it.

"Why is the desert a swamp?" Neesha demands with a frown. "And Zora's River's a desert?"

"What's this stream?" I demand with a dark frown. "This doesn't exist. And where's Lon Lon? It's not on here anywhere."

"Why the Hell did she draw it like this? It's creepy."

It's true. The map looks like something out of a horror story.

"Or out of a nightmare," I murmur aloud.

"What?" Marni asks. I blink.

"It must be from one of her dreams," I say, running my hands over the map. "I _think_ she was having nightmares before she got captured. She wasn't sleeping well at any rate, and that's never a good sign."

"She was," Neesha says. "Bad ones." I look up in surprise.

"How do you know?" I demand. She frowns at me, painted lips turned down at the corners.

"I just do," she responds flatly. "None of your business. Anyway, she was having nightmares at the Fortress."

"Well did she say what they were about?" I demand.

"Not really, no," Neesha muses. She looks thoughtful. "Though she did say that you were in them and that … well, that you never made it out of them." I heave a disgruntled sigh and ignore Marni's horrified look at the news.

"Definitely prophetic," I grumble. I pick up the map and roll it up, slipping it into my pouch. "At any rate, we're not going to figure out its purpose by staring at it, and if it's from one of her dreams we probably never will. In the meantime, we have work to do. We need to figure out the fastest, easiest way in to Agahnim – one he won't expect since he already knows we're coming." Neesha frowns and hesitates for a just a minute, then:

"You're … you're not going to try and make me go back to the desert?" She asks. I meet her gaze with a sigh.

"I was … going to," I say. "I was going to _try_ at any rate. You've got to understand the risks, here, Neesha. It's not that I don't want you with me, I do. _Believe_ me, I do. It's just … well, you know," I say quickly with a sidelong glance at Marni. She's had a rough enough time of it without me adding doom and destruction for Hyrule into the equation.

"I know," Neesha says slowly, "and I don't care. I have as much right to be part of this as you do, and I'm not staying out of it."

"You might not care, but other people do," I answer flatly. "And I'm not just talking about caring about you before you get all in a huff about not needing anyone's protection. I'm talking about what happens if Agahnim gets his claws on you. You're the only one he's missing, now, Neesha. He's going to do everything in his power to get you and to do you what he's done to the rest of them. And what then? Game over, that's what."

"I. Don't. Care," Neesha repeats. "I don't care. You can't do this alone, and the Sages and the Generals don't count. You need me, Link, Hero of Time or not. And I'm not going to sit on my ass and do nothing while you're off getting yourself killed!" Her eyes flash and she clenches her fists. "I didn't put on a Goddess damned _dress_ so you could send me back now." I sigh and lean back in my chair.

"And that's why I'm not," I answer heavily. "Not the dress, the needing you. You're right. I can't do this alone. I need your help. But understand here and now that I'm terrified I'm going to wind up on my own anyway. We're not talking about some two-bit black-magician here. We're talking about a black magician on par with Koume and Kotake. We're talking about someone who can spontaneously teleport three people from the same place, to different locations, who can infect someone's dreams from _miles_ away, who can make Sages disappear into thin air! Neesha, Bruiser's already dead. Hunter's captured, and so are the rest of them. He's brainwashed half of Hyrule. I haven't got so many friends left that I can afford to lose another." I pause and suck in a deep breath. "So fine, you can stay. I won't send you back. I'll even stick up for you against Nabooru and the others – something I freely admit I should have done in the first place – but you have to promise me you won't let him catch you. You take your Gerudo pride, and your Gerudo honour, and you leave it here with your Gerudo uniform. If things look bad, you run. Run like a scalded cat. If something goes wrong get out. Get out as fast as you can and don't stop running until you're back in the desert." Neesha narrows her eyes.

"Link … why are you talking like that?" She frowns. "What do you know that I don't?"

"I don't know anything," I respond. "I don't know anything except what I feel, and what I feel is not good. Please, Neesha. Promise me."

"All right," Neesha says once she realizes I'm not bending on this one. "All right, fine. I promise."

"On your honour as a Red."

"On my honour as a Red," Neesha repeats.

"What's going on?" Marni asks in a frightened voice. "I don't understand."

"It's all right, Marni," I say, offering her a smile. "Don't worry about it, all right? We'll take care of it." She nods slowly and I turn back to the original topic. "Now," I say, "disguised as Hylians or not, we're not going to be able to get in through the front gates of the palace at this time of night, and Agahnim's already proven he knows all about the Sheikan secret passages – plus he knows we're coming. So how are we supposed to get in without attracting attention, and without setting off any of Agahnim's alarms?"

"If you were a noble you could get in," Marni says, then blushes. "Not that you're not. You're more than a noble, you're a King, but … I just meant … it's because you're a wanted criminal. Not that I believe you did it! I _know_ you didn't!"

"It's okay, Marni!" I say, gesturing for her to calm down. "No offence taken, I know what you mean." I chew thoughtfully on my lower lip. "And you bring up a good point. The nobles take carriages in and out of the palace gates at all times of the day or night. And if we were in a carriage, there'd be no risk of being recognized. They wouldn't have to see our faces."

"But someone would have to tell the guards at the gate who we are," Neesha says. "One of us would have to do it. And besides, they know all the nobles. We can't exactly introduce ourselves as Lady Neesha and King Link of the Gerudo, now can we?"

"Well … we could get help," I say hesitantly. "Maybe one of the nobles who are on our side…"

"Nobles aren't on any side but their own," Neesha says darkly. "And neither you nor I is good enough at their mind games to be able to tell if we're being set up for something. That's what Hunter is for. And besides, you promised him you'd never, ever, ever, ever, ever, again so much as _look_ at another politician on your own again without him or Zelda there after that whole Eldrick thing."

"Hey," I growl, "first off, I think the circumstances have changed enough that my promise is rendered null and void, and second off, Eldrick is an ass who had it coming. Besides," I say, "I don't think we have a choice. We need into the palace and I don't think we're going to be able to do it on our own without setting off a million alarms and having to fight our way through the palace guards to get to Agahnim."

"This is a problem because…?" Neesha asks, raising an eyebrow. I offer her a cocky smirk.

"Well I'd hate for you to break a nail." I scramble under the table as fast as she lunges over it and Marni gives a startled shriek and jumps backwards.

"Goddess damned skirts!" Neesha growls, thumping the table with a hand as I scramble out from under the other side and come up behind her.

"Seriously though," I say before she can come after me again. "Breaking in like that isn't exactly a desirable option."

"Well what do you want?" Neesha demands, climbing off the table and trying in vain to straighten out her dress. "To sneak in there and murder him in his sleep?"

"He won't be sleeping," I say darkly. "Believe me. What I want is to get in and get out with the least amount of fuss."

"Since when are you so careful?" Neesha demands as Marni moves over to help her sort herself out. I frown, uncomfortable.

"I told you, I have a bad feeling about this," I reply. "There's something going on that we're not aware of and it's making me nervous. Would you just go along with me on this one? We'll bash our way through the next obstacle as per usual, I promise, just give me this one." Neesha rolls her eyes.

"Well fine," she says, swatting Marni away and sitting down again. "But I don't like it."

"No one's asking you to," I say, dropping into a seat again as well. "So who should we approach? Who isn't going to turn us in?"

"Well that Harker guy liked you," Neesha says with a frown.

"Yeah but he likes rupees too," I reply. "He'd sell us out for the right price in a heartbeat. What about Lady Nina?"

"I wouldn't," Marni says. We both turn to her and she looks disconcerted by the sudden attention. "It's just … well, she's having an affair with Lord Shenyan, and everybody _knows_ he's pro Agahnim."

"What about her husband?" Neesha demands. "If she's cheating on him, maybe he'd be willing to help us." Marni shakes her head.

"He's, um … he's not very, uh … he wouldn't stick his neck out for you."

"He's a coward in other words," I say with a sigh.

"Well it's not really my place to say such about a noble, but …" Marni lets it hang.

"Have a lot of them been shifting alliances?" I ask, rubbing my forehead. "Since this whole … I kidnapped the Princess thing?"

"Yes," Marni answers, looking offended at the lot of them. "Almost all of them believe Agahnim, or else were just looking for an excuse, and they abandoned you at the first opportunity. Ungrateful creatures, the lot of them."

"Are there any who haven't?" Neesha asks. Marni thinks.

"Well," she says, "they don't exactly go about announcing it … but there might be a few. But … there's no guarantees. Any one of them may betray you. Agahnim's … well, if he can convince Liam to kill me than who knows what he can do." Her voice goes very quiet suddenly and I reach out and squeeze her shoulder.

"Marni, listen to me," I say. "He didn't _convince_ Liam of anything. From what you described it sounds like Liam is under a spell, okay? Agahnim used it on a friend of mine as well."

"Oh really?" Marni asks, hopeful. "Can … can it be broken?"

"Yes," I respond. "But I need you to help me with this first, Marni. I'm no good at politics, and both of my political advisors are currently in a great deal of danger. Who would you recommend? Who would help us get into the palace to get at Agahnim? Who won't turn us in at the first opportunity? Can you think of anyone?"

"Link," Neesha says, "what about Durnam?"

"Oh yes," Marni says. "He's one of the ones who refuses to believe Agahnim's lies about you. He's been very vocal about his opinion of you, and of Sir Hunter and Lady Neesha as well. And he was against the motion to nullify the treaty with the Gerudo." I think about it for a moment.

"He _does_ owe me a favour," I muse. "But he's got a family. I'd rather not get them involved. What we're asking him to do is essentially treason – legally at any rate – and …"

"Sir Link," Marni says quietly, "I mean no offence, but it doesn't sound as though you have much of a choice at this point. He's your best bet." I sigh and drum my fingers on the table, debating our options.

"What do you think, Neesha?" I say finally.

"I think we should bust in through the front gate."

"I mean what do you think about _this_ plan."

"I think it _pales_ in comparison to busting in through the front gate."

"Neesha, you said you'd go along with this." Neesha heaves a disgruntled sigh and blows a stray ringlet out of her face.

"Fine," she says. "I agree with Marni. We haven't got much other choice. There's no safe way to guess which secret passages Agahnim does and doesn't know about and busting in through the front gate – though obviously the best plan of the lot – _would_ make things kind of complicated. If Durnam can get us through the front gate legitimately things'll be easier 'till we start getting close to Agahnim." I take a deep breath.

"All right," I say. "Then that's what we'll do. Marni, I'm going to take you to Kakariko first. Thank you for all of your help, I appreciate it more than you know."

"You're quite welcome," Marni said, looking pleased. "But … how will you get me out? The town is locked up tight once night falls, and Kakariko's a long way away." I grin at her.

"Marni, Marni, Marni," I say. "I have ways."

"You can't take the Ocarina," Neesha says with a frown. "Agahnim's got the Temple of Time watched."

"I can take the Ocarina to the Shadow Temple," I say. "And I can take Farore's Wind back again. We're close enough to Kakariko that it should work."

"Ah," Neesha says. "Well get going, we haven't got all night."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Neesha crossed her arms uncomfortably over her stomach and tried to look pale and delicate. It was harder than she thought it would be. She studied herself in the gilded full length mirror on the other side of the hallway and frowned. She may have been dressed like a Hylian, but she still carried herself like a Gerudo. Something in the way she held her head. She didn't look meek at all.

This was never going to work. This was a dumb idea.

She shook her head and turned around. She'd just have to go back to Link and tell him it wouldn't work. It didn't matter how good a job Marni had done covering up her dark skin and putting her hair up in a very non-Gerudoish manner, and no matter _how_ nice a dress Marni put her in (Neesha suspected it was in fact Marni's _best_ dress, and she wasn't quite sure how to feel about that), she was a Gerudo, and it showed.

She took a step towards the double doors that led out of the expansive mansion (having been through them approximately fifteen minutes prior and then promptly abandoned by the servant who let her in) but stopped in her tracks when a door set into the wall between her and her escape opened and two men stepped out. She bit back an oath and turned her back to them, studying herself in the mirror again.

 _Pale and delicate,_ she thought. _Pale and delicate, pale and delicate, pale and delicate_.

"Well hello there!" Said a suave voice from behind her. "What have we here?"

Neesha turned around slowly, plastering what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face. Approaching her were two men – one old and one young – and she recognized them both: the Lord Eldrick (the younger) and Lord Durnam (the older).

 _Bow!_ She hissed at herself. _Bow!_

She remembered that in Castletown women didn't _bow_ , they _curtsied_ two seconds too late but neither of the men really seemed to the care. The young one in fact seemed quite charmed by her mistake.

"Well isn't she just a treasure," he exclaimed, holding out his hand to her. "Durnam, old man, where have you been keeping her?" Neesha smiled nervously at him and placed her hand stiffly in his, trying (and failing) not to remember every last racial slur the man had ever directed at her or Link, or any other number of things he had done that made her want to rip her hand away from him before he could kiss it, curl her 'pale and delicate' fingers into a fist, and slam it into his jaw.

_Must not kill him, must not kill him, must not kill him…_

Eldrick directed a charming look up at her as he straightened, letting his hand linger on her own.

 _Do something!_ Her brain shrieked at her.

 _What?_ She shrieked back.

_Anything! What would Zelda do?_

She giggled and was relieved to see (amidst the urge to suddenly punch herself in the face) that Eldrick seemed satisfied with that. He winked at her and took his hand away as Durnam blinked owlishly down at her through a thick pair of glasses.

"I haven't been keeping her anywhere," he said. "She's not mine, pity that. Tell me child, where _have_ you come from at this hour? Do you have an escort?" He squinted. "Pardon my rudeness, but have we met? You look terribly familiar."

"I … no, no escort," Neesha managed, trying to sound girly and unintelligent. "And no, I don't … we haven't met. I just came … I had a message for you. Your servant left to … to find you." Durnam rolled his eyes suddenly.

"That damn boy," he grumbled. "He's likely gone straight to the kitchens is where he's gone. I'm sorry, m'dear, about the wait. Terribly rude of me, I must say. Do come in and make yourself at home."

"No, no," Neesha said quickly, shaking her head. "No thank you. I just … I need to deliver my message, that's all."

"Nonsense! I insist!" Durnam said. "It's entirely too late for me to let you wander about on your own. Give me your message, dear, then come in and have a seat." Neesha resisted the urge to grind her teeth.

"My message is … that my Master would like to speak with you in private," she said, annoyed at having to call Link 'master.' "He said that you can meet him at the fountain in the park two blocks from here."

"And who is your Master, m'dear?" Durnam asked.

"I am not at liberty to say," she said with an apologetic bow, then promptly winced inwardly at the fact that she had forgotten she was supposed to curtsey again.

"A mystery, is it?" Eldrick said with a smirk. "Durnam, old boy, what intrigue have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"Damned if I know," Durnam said, "pardon my language, Miss."

"Well you'd best get to solving it," Eldrick said. "I'll keep our fair friend here company until you return." Neesha hoped her horror wasn't showing on her face.

"No," she said. "No thank you, that's all right. I'm really … I'm fine. I should be—"

"Tut," said Durnam. "It's rude to decline someone's hospitality you know. Eldrick is a fine, upstanding lad. He won't bite you, dear. And I shan't be long. I believe I will have a word with this Master of yours for leaving you out on your own like this. He should be more responsible. A young thing like you out after dark in times like this! Preposterous!"

"Really," Neesha said, "I can handle my—" But the next instant Eldrick had draped one arm around her shoulders and was leading her away. She clenched her jaw and forced her violent urges down.

"Please remove your arm," she said stiffly, and added silently: _before I remove it for you._

"My apologies, milady," Eldrick said smoothly, taking his arm from off her shoulders. "I meant merely to keep you warm. It's a very cold night and the house is drafty."

"Thank you, but I'm quite warm," she said primly, trying to mimic the snooty tone she'd heard other Hylian women use.

"I can see that," Eldrick said with a wry smile. "Forgive my rudeness, milady, but I don't believe we've been properly introduced." He paused and offered her a florid bow. "I am the Lord Eldrick, youngest son of the Baron Eldrick, second cousin, twice-removed, to the King himself. And you are?" Neesha frowned at him.

"My name," she said, "is mine to keep should I wish it, and I assure you, I do." Eldrick gave her an impressed smile.

"Well, my Lady Secret," he said, "I must admit I am not used to such hostile attitude from the fairer sex. Have I offended you?"

Neesha was torn between responding negatively or laughing in his face. It was almost amusing to watch the man ( _boy_ , she corrected herself, since the young lord was younger than even Link and Hunter) who had spent so much of his time at court putting her down and being outwardly hostile now sucking up to her and trying his best to sweet talk and charm her like he did every other woman who had the misfortune to catch his eye. It _almost_ made the disguise worth it.

Almost.

She smirked at him.

"You're a bit aggressive," she said bluntly. "And considering the fact that your advances are unwanted, I would suggest reigning yourself in. We'll both get along _much_ better once you do." Eldrick blinked at her in shock, and then a rueful smile crept across his face.

"My Lady Secret, you are _full_ of mysteries, aren't you?" He said. "Do you know, no woman has ever said no to me quite so bluntly as that?"

"I can be blunter," she assured him.

"Coming from a woman who bows as a man?" He said. "I don't doubt it. Tell me, Lady Secret, would you like a drink?"

***

##  **Chapter 12 (cont.)**

The snow is falling gently in the square in which I'm pacing, granting the whole scene a fragile kind of beauty you only really ever see with crystal, but I'm entirely too wrapped up in my own nervousness to notice or care.

The feeling of dread I've been fighting with for the last day or two has me fully in its grip now. Something, though I can't determine for the life of me what, is spinning drastically out of my control. My mind slides back of its own accord to the map that Zelda had Marni give to me.

What is it? What is it for? Why is it important? It has to be important. She wouldn't have involved Marni if it hadn't been. I know it's from her dreams, but that's no help. That just means it's doubly important, and triply hard to figure out. It disturbs me on a level I don't appreciate being disturbed on.

But by the same token, the map is a relief and a blessing because it's from Zelda. It means she's all right. It means she's still there. It means she's alive and safe (relatively speaking) and there's still a chance I might rescue her. And that gives me hope. Because if I can rescue her, I can rescue the others, right? Even if they _are_ in the Dark World.

Even if I have to go through Ganon to get them.

I clench my fists at the thought, grateful for the weight of the Master Sword at my back, under my cloak.

Whatever comes I can do it. Whatever happens, I can handle it. This dread I'm feeling is probably just more of Agahnim's manipulations. This whole thing is probably just a game to him. He's psyching me out, that's all.

Just psyching me out.

"Good evening sir!" Calls a jovial voice from behind me. I blink in surprise and turn to face the voice. A familiar bespectacled old man peers at me owlishly from behind a thick pair of glasses. "I don't suppose, by any chance, that you are the one responsible for the lovely young lady I found wandering around my hallways, are you?"

"Red hair?" I ask. "Dark blue eyes, almost black?"

"That's the one," he says.

"I might have." Durnam's expression is cautious, but intrigued.

"You sound familiar, sir," he says, "it might be easier to put a face to your voice if you would lower your scarf and remove your hood." I hesitate. I trust Durnam, he's come through for me more times than I can count, it's just …

The knot of dread in my stomach tightens.

I swallow thickly and reach up to my hood, folding it back off of my head and revealing my hatless blonde hair. I pull the scarf down next and once the moonlight has fully illuminated my face Durnam's eyes widen.

"Sir Link!" He breathes, then shakes himself and gestures frantically. "Put those back on before somebody else sees you! What are you doing here? You're a wanted man now!" He moves closer as I hastily shove my scarf back up and pull my hood up over my head. "Everybody thinks you've kidnapped those children and the Princess! You shouldn't be here!"

"I know, I know, but I haven't got a choice. I need your help, Durnam." Durnam sighs.

"I mean no offence by this, but I really do hate it when you say that," he says.

"None taken," I say, "but I'm calling in a favour anyway. It's not a big one … exactly."

"And why should I help a wanted man?"

"Because you know I'm being framed?" I offer, raising an eyebrow. "Because it makes no sense that I would run around the kingdom kidnapping and murdering people I care about? Because whatever Agahnim's told you, you know Hyrule's in trouble?" Durnam rubs his head, a trouble look on his face.

"Link … favour or not I have the feeling that what you're about to ask me is going to be big trouble. I have a family to think of. Agahnim's a force to be reckoned with."

"And I'm the reckoning," I respond. "It's not much, Durnam. I'm not asking you to fight or even put yourself in much risk at all. I just need your help getting into the palace, that's all. Me and another."

"The girl I'm presuming?" Durnam says, still looking tortured for some reason. "Who is she, anyway?" I offer him a wink.

"Durnam, old friend, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Well why don't you try me while we head back to my house." He casts a nervous glance around. "I'm not entirely comfortable discussing this with you out in the open."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"I _do_ wish you would tell me your name," Eldrick said with a sigh, idly stirring the drink in his glass and studying Neesha bluntly. He tucked a long strand of dark hair behind his ear. "You're terribly familiar, but I can't place you, which is odd. I would remember meeting a woman such as yourself, I think."

"Sometimes a secret is more exciting than the truth," Neesha said, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know you wouldn't be miserable once you'd found out who I actually am? Suppose I'm not actually a Lady. Perhaps I'm some poor serving girl dressed up at her master's request to deliver a message, what then? You'd be horrified, that's what."

"Would I now?" Eldrick asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmph," Neesha said, "you, sir, are a pompous ass with anyone you consider beneath you, and even a few who are your equal." _Or better,_ she added silently, thinking briefly of Link. "I've _seen_ the way you treat the servants at the palace."

"Ah ha," Eldrick said, "so I _do_ know you from somewhere! We _have_ met! Or have at least been in close quarters." Neesha winced inwardly but merely frowned at Eldrick. He smirked at her. "And I would not be horrified in the slightest. First off, you haven't the look of a servant girl. You have the look of noble birth. And secondly, even if you _were_ a servant girl, it would not change my opinion in the slightest except perhaps to make me angry that the Goddesses had so short-changed one so obviously regal as yourself."

"You shouldn't question the Goddesses," Neesha responded. "And that's easy enough to say when you're so certain I'm a noble. It will make you look good if the truth comes out and I am in fact a noble. And if I'm not … well no sweat off your back, is it? I'm just a servant girl, after all. Who cares about me?" She paused and tried to reign her annoyance back in. She was starting to speak far too casually again: the Hylian nobility was fond of formal and flowery language. Phrases like 'sweat off my back' weren't really their cup of tea.

"You wound me terribly," Eldrick replied. "Have I really come across as that much of a bastard?"

"Pardon your language?" Neesha asked with a raised eyebrow. Eldrick grinned back at her.

"You've used such and worse in the last ten minutes, my Lady Secret. I has assumed that your constitution with regards to such things was a mite better than most ladies I know." Neesha blinked. Had she? She hadn't noticed. She frowned.

It was harder than she'd expected, being pale and delicate.

"My constitution with regards to a lot of things is better than most other women," she responded haughtily. "And yes, you do come across as that much of a bastard." She paused. "Pardon my language," she added sweetly.

"Well my dear, will you give me the opportunity to change your opinion?" He asked. "Though I suspect it will be damn near impossible from your tone." He smirked at her. "Pardon my language," he added.

"A waste of time if you ask me," Neesha responded. "But you can try if you like."

"Excellent," Eldrick said, taking a swig from his glass. "I've always liked a challenge. Tell me, what would it take? How can I convince you that I am not perhaps so bad as you seem to think I am?"

"I'm afraid," Neesha said, "you are quite on your own, there. What fun would this game be if I gave you all the answers? But I will tell you, you have a long way to go."

"Well then give me a starting point," Eldrick responded, undaunted. "You think I'm a bastard, but why? And what else do you think of me? Give me a list of wrongs I've committed in your eyes. Give me a list of faults to dispute." Neesha raised an eyebrow.

"You're serious?" She asked.

"Of course!" Said Eldrick.

"No," she said after a moment of thought. "No, I will not."

"Why?"

"Because you, sir, are a noble and a politician, and to be as frank with you as you seem to be suggesting I can be would not be wise."

"Well I'm really just a noble," Eldrick said. "I'm a bit young to be a politician, yet. Only eighteen, you know."

"Politics know no age, race, or gender," she responded flatly.

"A Sheikan adage," Eldrick noted. "Are you Sheikan, my Lady Secret? I would not be surprised with all the mystery you seem to have gathered to yourself." Neesha snorted.

"Sheikan," she said, rolling her eyes. "Please."

"Not Sheikan, so Hylian you _must_ be, but I would remember you!"

"Eldrick, you bounce from woman to woman so often I would be surprised you remembered which name belongs to which of your little girlfriends."

"Shall I add this to my list of things-that-make-me-a-bastard?"

"I told you I don't want to play that game with you."

"Then what game will you play with me?" Eldrick demanded. "Lord knows you're the most interesting woman I've met to date. You may not want to play, but you have so far. Would you like to hear my list? Here is what I've come up with so far from our conversation: One: I am a bastard because I am a womanizer. Two: I am a bastard because I am a noble _and_ a politician, even though I deny the latter of those two. Three: I am a bastard because I am pompous and apparently treat my servants badly." He offered her his best smile. "My lady, two of those three things I can change if that is what it would take for you to think more kindly of me."

"Four:" Neesha said flatly, "you make promises you have no intentions of keeping in order to get your way with no regard for ally or enemy or what the consequences of your actions may eventually be."

"Five:" Eldrick said, "I am a shameless flirt. Have I mentioned yet that you are all the more beautiful for your ire?"

"Six:" Neesha growled, clenching her fists and resisting the urge to get to her feet, "you are arrogant, frivolous, spoiled, and lazy!"

"Lazy!" Eldrick cried in protest. "Seven: I am terribly jealous and possessive. I will challenge this 'master' of yours to a duel if that's what it takes!"

"Eight!" Neesha cried, getting to her feet at last. "You are a racist, ignorant _wretch_ , and you're _proud_ of that!"

"Nine!" Eldrick said, climbing to his feet as well. "I am the single most stubborn man you've ever met, and I don't know _how_ to take no for an answer!"

"Ten," said a quiet voice from behind them, "you're an asshole. End of story. And for the record," Neesha and Eldrick both turned around, blinking in surprise at the unexpected interruption. The Hero of Time stood in the doorway, a cool, unimpressed expression on his face. "You're the _second_ most stubborn man she's ever met."

***

##  **Chapter 12 (cont.)**

" _You're_ her master?" Eldrick demands, horrified. He whirls back around to face Neesha who's wearing a cool expression. "Oh Lady Secret, please tell me I'm mistaken."

"You are not," she responds primly. "And for the record, I _have_ no master. Link is my _King_." Eldrick's eyes widen and he blinks, a look of shock and horror stealing over his face as several things suddenly click into place in his brain.

"Lord Eldrick the younger," I say stiffly, "may I present the Lady Neesha, the only. Neesha of the Gerudo, that is."

"Like I said," Neesha says with a frown. "The truth can be a miserable, miserable thing sometimes." She raises an eyebrow. "You should have been satisfied with Lady Secret."

"That I should have," Eldrick says, unable to keep his disappointment out of his voice. I'm not entirely sure I want to try and figure out what he was hoping for. He gives a stiff bow and catches Neesha's hand on the way down, lifting it to his lips and kissing it briefly. "But never let it be said that an Eldrick cannot accept defeat gracefully." He straightens and frowns at her. "For all my faults I have that virtue at least."

"Why are you here, Eldrick?" I demand bluntly, annoyed by the whole display.

"I could ask the same of you," he responds, glaring at me as he pulls away from Neesha and moves over to a chair. "Not every day a wanted criminal shows up in Lord Durnam's manor, now is it? Where is he? Have you done away with him like you have our Princess?" I clench my fists and glare at him, opening my mouth to respond harshly, but Durnam comes up behind me before I can and lays a placating hand on my back as he slips into the room.

"Eldrick, please," he says. "Behave yourself. Both of you. Link, Eldrick is here as my guest. I know you two have had your tiffs in the past—" Eldrick and I both narrow our eyes at each other. _Tiffs_ he says. It goes a bit further than _tiffs_. "—but you can trust each other. At least on this."

"I would rather not have to," I grate out from between my teeth.

"Well I'm afraid you'll have very little choice in the matter," Durnam responds with a sigh. "You will need the both of us if you are going to get into the palace."

"We're _helping_ them?" Eldrick demands, getting to his feet. "Durnam! This is treason!"

"Sit down, Eldrick," Durnam says flatly, dropping his befuddled old man act as I've seen him do on only rare occasions. "You can drop the act. This is an opportunity we can't afford to pass up, and you know it."

"But—"

"Your father charged me with teaching you the ins and outs of politics and court intrigue," Durnam replied, his tone steel, "and the first lesson is that sometimes the enemy of your enemy is your friend. And Link is nothing if not an enemy of Agahnim. As are we." Eldrick takes a sullen seat and Durnam gestures for me to do the same. I drop down onto the couch beside Neesha in a manner which I'd like to claim is less sullen than Eldrick, but then I'd be lying.

"Now," Durnam says, following suit, "from what I understand you would like us to find a way to get yourself and Lady Neesha into the palace." A servant slips in through the door with a tray full of drinks. Durnam accepts one without really paying attention, as does Eldrick. Neesha and I both manage to catch the servant's eyes and offer him a quiet thanks without really noticing we're doing it. Neither one of us ever _could_ get used to ignoring the servants entirely. "I must say you've done a bang-up job, 'civilizing,' if you will pardon my use of the word in this instance, your young Gerudo friend. Both Eldrick and I were quite taken in by the disguise and she won't be easily recognized. However, as for yourself, Sir Link … well … a hood and a scarf just aren't going to cover it."

"We could put him in a dress too," Neesha suggests under her breath and I elbow her sharply in the side.

"What can we do about it, though?" I ask, sipping my drink thoughtfully. Whatever it is it tastes sort of sweet, but kind of familiar. "Changing my clothes will only do so much, and makeup isn't really an option for me."

"We could slap you in irons and pretend we're taking you to the dungeons," Eldrick suggest with an evil smirk. I grind my teeth and narrow my eyes at him.

"Well sure if that didn't involve me trusting you not to do just that," I return caustically. "Which I don't."

"Well like it or not, Link, you're going to have to trust us one way or another, now aren't you?" He demands, idly swirling his drink around and giving me a look that says everything there is to say about his opinion of me. "I mean for all you know we've turned you in to Agahnim already." I clench my jaw, but Durnam interrupts before I can say anything.

"Stop it!" He snaps. "Both of you!" An unexpected yawn takes Neesha by surprise, and a moment later I can feel it prying at my jaw as well. I don't let it interrupt my glaring at Eldrick.

"There has to be some kind of disguise we can put you in," Durnam says. "Perhaps if you let your hair down …"

"Why so I can look like him?" I demand, gesturing at Eldrick. "Thanks, I'll pass. There's a reason I've never bothered to follow the Hylian styles."

"At least we have a style to speak of," Eldrick cuts in acidly.

"Gentlemen, _please_ ," Durnam says as another yawn takes me by surprise. I shake my head and reach for my drink, trying to wake myself up. Is it just me or is it suddenly warm in here? I take another pull from the glass. It's on the tip of my tongue what the drink tastes like … I've had it before, I know I have …

"Link, if I have to dress up like a Hylian, then I think you can swallow your pride and do the same," Neesha murmurs quietly. She rubs her eyes. "At least then I won't have to be the only one dressed like an idiot."

"Neesha, it's not a matter of pride, it's—" I stop mid-sentence and stare down at my drink, struck by a sudden realization.

That taste …

Neesha just barely manages to stifle a yawn.

I know where I've tasted it before.

_"Well," she says, "powerful he may be, but he's no match for a sleeping draught, I'm sure. Not in this case, anyway." I blink at her._

_"You mean you can fix it?" I ask. "I won't dream?"_

_"You'll be too far into deep sleep for dreams to trouble you, highness," she says. "But not much will wake you either until it's worn off …"_

I violently throw the glass back down onto the table and look up at Durnam with a snarl.

"Traitor!" I manage, but I can't get to my feet and go after him like I want to. My limbs are too heavy. I realized what was going on a second too late and the draught is kicking in at last. I suppose there's some smugness to be had from the fact that Rue's was better. It kicked in much faster than this.

Too bad I'm losing my grip on consciousness too fast to really be smug.

"Sorry old friend," Durnam says, sounding genuinely regretful. "But Agahnim _is_ a force to be reckoned with, and I have a family to think about."

The next instant, my eyes fall shut and I can't hear him, or anything else, anymore.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"He's never going to forgive you for this one, Durnam," Eldrick said, pulling on his gloves. "Not if you live to be a hundred."

"If I am to judge by Agahnim's track record," Durnam replied flatly, "I won't have to worry about whether or not he forgives me."

"You don't sound as if that makes you any happier," Eldrick noted. "Not having second thoughts, I hope, Durnam?" He raised an eyebrow. "If I am to judge by Agahnim's track record, he wouldn't appreciate you doubting his orders."

"Of course not," Durnam said quickly. "Not in the slightest. It just really is a shame. I shudder to think of how the Gerudo are going to retaliate for this." Eldrick made a derisive noise.

"I'm surprised he was man enough to come without his usual entourage of savages," he said flatly. "Hiding behind the skirts of his female body guards as he always does."

"Eldrick, lad," Durnam said, "the Gerudo don't wear skirts, and if I were you I would not underestimate their skill and ability."

"The 'Lady' Neesha does now, apparently," Eldrick said.

"Apparently," Durnam agreed. "And unless my old eyes are worse than I thought you didn't seem so put off by her then, now did you?"

"Of course not," Eldrick said with a dark frown. "She looked like a civilized woman. Traitorous, duplicitous thing that she is." He glared at the front most of the two carriages in front of them where he knew she was bound.

"Best to put her out of your thoughts, Eldrick," Durnam said. "I'm taking her to Agahnim now and you'll never see her again once I leave. Besides," he added, "the Gerudo aren't normal women. They aren't like our pretty little Hylian sweet-hearts. If you continue to play your game with her, no matter what the outcome, it wouldn't have been _she_ who was conquered."

"What are you going on about, old man?" Eldrick demanded stiffly. "She's not in my thoughts. She's a miserable little savage who played me for a fool. I would say something here about having my revenge if it weren't for that fact that, as you've said, I'll never see her again, so I needn't worry about it." Durnam clapped him on the back.

"Whatever you say, my boy," he said, then moved towards the carriage. "I'm off with her now. You know Agahnim's orders. Give me an hour, then follow with Sir Link."

"I'm young," Eldrick said flatly, "I'm not an idiot."

"Good lad," Durnam said, climbing up into the carriage. Eldrick caught a glimpse of a thick green skirt on the seat across from where Durnam was sitting before the coachman shut the door. He crossed his arms and frowned, watching the carriage as the horses began on their way down the winding drive, eventually rounding the corner and going out of sight.

"Coward," he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the spot where the carriage had been. "Hypocrite."

He turned around with a swirl of his cape and stormed back into the manor. His servant was waiting for him inside.

"How do we proceed, m'lord?" Eldrick chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip.

"I don't know," he answered finally. "This is tricky. We're all Zelda and Daphnes have left right now. We can't afford to tip our hand. Any ideas, Renaud?"

"With all due respect, Lord Eldrick," Renaud answered simply, his face schooled into an expression of seriousness, "we may not have a choice _but_ to tip our hand. We may be all Zelda and Daphnes have left, but _he_ is all _we_ have left. I don't pretend to know magic or destiny or the will of the Goddesses, but I know the stories of the Hero of Time. I've seen with my own two eyes what Sir Link can do. We can't hand him over to Agahnim. He may very well be the only one who can _stop_ Agahnim. Neither you nor I is equipped to deal with a Wizard of his strength and power."

"Farore," Eldrick swore. "Have I mentioned how much I hate him?"

"Not yet today, m'lord," Renaud said with a straight face. "But we haven't had much time to speak in private." Eldrick continued to chew his lower lip. Renaud cleared his throat. "M'Lord, why did your father send you here?" Eldrick rolled his eyes.

"To keep an eye on Durnam and to do what I can to thwart Agahnim's attempts to usurp power through him," he grumbled.

"So … perhaps it would be best then, sir, to … put away your grudge against Sir Link? At least temporarily."

"Do you know what—"

"Sir, I am _quite_ well versed in the history of your feud with Sir Link. From the time he defeated you at that duel, to the time he ruined your father's attempts to legislate that the Sheikah be more open about their organization, to the time he ruined your attempts at wooing the rancher's daughter."

"I remember that," Eldrick said with a frown. "Malin … Mulan …"

"Malon, m'lord," Renaud supplied. "And in Sir Link's defence, she was, and still is to the best of my knowledge, involved with Sir Hunter, of the Sheikah. Sir Link's cousin."

"I _know_ who Hunter is," Eldrick grumbled. "And I _know_ they were involved. I didn't _care_."

"Well, sir," Renaud said, "some people take offence to that kind of thing."

"Some people," Eldrick muttered under his breath, "need to be shot in the head." Renaud sighed but said nothing. There was little point arguing with his young master on the subject of Sir Link, Sir Hunter and/or Lady Neesha.

"Well what can we do anyway?" Eldrick demanded. "That sleeping draught will last for hours. Durnam told me that himself." Renaud offered him a rare smile.

"Lord Eldrick," he said, "your father doesn't pay me merely to wait on you and he, you know."

"Renaud, what have you done?" Eldrick demanded, frowning.

"Let's just say," Renaud answered, "that Sir Link will be waking up long before Durnam expects him too." Eldrick raised an eyebrow.

"What are you suggesting, Renaud?" He demanded.

"Sir Link asked you for a way into the palace, sir," Renaud answered, the smile still playing around his lips. "I'm merely suggesting that as one noble to another, it would be rude of you to decline."

***

##  **Chapter 12 (cont.)**

"Good evening, m'lord! May I have your name and business, please?" The voice is muffled.

"Lord Eldrick," comes the response. Not muffled. Much closer. All-too-familiar. I can feel my jaw clench before I'm even fully awake. "And my business is my pleasure! My friend and I have come to the palace to see if we can't round up some more hot blooded youths with which to have a good time." A heavy sigh. "These are dark times we live in, good sir, and a little revelry can do _wonders_ for a heavy soul!" A short laugh. "Some of us can take it a bit far, though." I get the distinct feeling he's likely gesturing at me.

"Good luck, then my Lord," says the muffled voice. There's a snap and the next instant I have the distinct impression we're moving. I force my eyes open with an effort and shake my head. I'm lying in an uncomfortable position on something soft and padded.

"What the Hell …?" I grunt, pushing myself up and shaking my head again. I'm in the inside of a carriage – a very _nice_ carriage – and seated primly opposite me is Eldrick. I can feel my face contort as I meet his gaze. "You," I snarl. "What the Hell is going on?"

"Good morning to you too," Eldrick says with a dark frown, loathing dancing in his eyes. "Took you long enough to wake up."

"Where's Neesha?"

"Gone," Eldrick answers. "Durnam's brought her to Agahnim."

It takes me a moment to fully comprehend what this news means.

Agahnim has Neesha.

Agahnim has all seven maidens.

Agahnim has everything he needs to bend the seals on the Dark World and let loose an army of killer, first generation Moblins on an unsuspecting Hyrule.

I close my eyes for a moment, in a dual attempt to try desperately to bolster what little hope I have left, and to keep myself from going for Eldrick's throat right now.

So that's it then. I've lost Neesha now too.

"Don't look so pained," Eldrick grunts. "He's not going to kill her."

"I know that," I snap, opening my eyes and glaring balefully at him. "It's you who doesn't know what he's going to do to her. What he's going to do _with_ her. I hope you're happy, Eldrick! Hyrule's in more trouble now than she's ever been, and it's all thanks to you. Give me one good reason not to rip you apart right now."

"Why don't you use your head, you mongrel," he growls right back. "If I was going working against you, wouldn't I have acted by now? And why would I leave you untied, exactly?" He grinds his teeth as though I'm being particularly annoying. I wish I cared. "Durnam may be a cowardly old fool, but he was right about one thing: the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

I blink and frown up at him.

"What are you talking about?" I demand, staring at him suspiciously.

"I'm trying to _help_ you," Eldrick growls. "Had I recognized the Gerudo before you showed up I would have warned her _and_ yourself _away_ from Durnam. Unfortunately, I did not, and you didn't exactly give me much time to prepare." I raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" I say. "So … I suppose drugging us and handing us over to our enemies is your version of help, then? Why in Nayru's name should I believe a goddess-damned word that comes out of your mouth?"

"Because you haven't much other choice," Eldrick responds flatly. "I know you're not guilty of the things Agahnim has claimed that you are." He makes a face. "I can see with my own two eyes the love-sick looks that you and the Princess direct at each other when you think no one's looking. It makes me sick to my stomach, but there's no denying it, and for all your faults, and they are plentiful, I know you wouldn't betray her. Not like that. I _also_ know that Agahnim is likely the one responsible for the kidnappings and the King's sickness, _and_ Zelda's disappearance. He's ambitious and power hungry and has had his eye on the throne since the day he showed his face here, but he's an outsider and I'll die before I see an outsider on Hyrule's throne." His dark eyes flash with malice, mine with scorn.

"I'm assuming outsider here includes the Gerudo."

"Naturally," Eldrick answers. "Especially you. But that is another argument for another day. Case in point, I will not stand for Agahnim ruling Hyrule. Nor will I stand for any of the petty nobles who all stand at Agahnim's table, begging for scraps while secretly hoping to take over the throne of Hyrule for themselves once they've let the Wizard deal with the current royal family." His face is harsh and determined. "The throne of Hyrule belongs to the royal family of Hyrule, and the Eldrick Family will serve no other." It takes me a moment to wade through the arrogant, semi-evil tone he's using to realize that what he's saying is that he's actually _against_ the bad guys. I give him an incredulous look.

"So," I saw slowly, "in order to stop Agahnim from taking over Hyrule you have handed him the one thing he needed to do just that on a silver platter?" I clap twice, unenthusiastically. "Congratulations, Eldrick. What a stunningly brilliant plan. Save Hyrule, by dooming it! That's fantastic! You should get a medal or something."

"What are you on about?" Eldrick demands angrily.

"Nothing I could explain to you," I respond darkly. "Except to say that Agahnim is trying to work some very dark magic, and he was only missing one thing – Neesha. And now you've given him just that."

"You're the one who gave him what he needs, fool," Eldrick snaps. "You're the one who brought her here. What would you have had me do? I am one of the few _real_ allies Zelda and her family has left in Castletown. Would you have had me blow my cover? Agahnim _owns_ Durnam. He's threatened Durnam's _family_ if he continues to support you, and Durnam's terrified for their sakes and won't put a toe out of line for fear of losing them. His children and his wife have always been his greatest weakness."

"You _would_ consider that a weakness, wouldn't you?" I demand with a glare.

"Shut up," Eldrick snaps. "We haven't time for your foolish prattle. I couldn't risk raising Durnam's suspicions. The fact of the matter is it's not too late for Hyrule, whatever you may think. You wanted in to see Agahnim, and I am giving you that chance. Thanks to some quick thinking on the part of one of my servants, your drink was diluted. Durnam thinks that I will be dragging an unconscious, unarmed you in to Agahnim's guards in forty-five minutes time. Instead I am taking a fully conscious, fully armed you in as far as I can right goddess-damned now."

"And this won't blow your cover?" I demand. Eldrick narrows his eyes.

"This is _quite_ going to blow my cover," he returns stonily. "And my whole goddess-damned family's if I can't make them believe I am acting of my own volition. Keep that in mind, tonight, _Sir_ Link. It's not just your ass on the line in there tonight. Mine, my family's, and Din knows how many others. And if we go, Zelda hasn't an ally left that she can count on in Castletown, and Agahnim's as good as won."

"You don't know the half of it," I return darkly. "Don't tell _me_ about what's on the line."

"Just remember one thing, Link," he snaps. "I'm not doing this for _you._ I'm doing it for _Hyrule,_ and Din knows why, but you seem to have been elected her guardian." He crosses his arms and glares at me. "I may not like you, Link, but I can't deny your history or your effectiveness. If anyone has a shot at making things right again it's you, and I'm not above using you for my own purposes if the opportunity arrives." He leans down and pulls a bundle out from under his seat. The hilt of the Master Sword gleams in the moonlight from inside the bundle. "Do me a favour, and prove that the Princess' faith in you is justified, hmm? Because I don't think either one of us is going to be happy if you fail." I frown and ignore him, pulling the bundle up onto the seat beside me and start pulling out my weapons, slipping them on and sliding them into their proper places: Master Sword, quiver (one, two, three magic arrows plus other ammo), bow, two good Gerudo scimitars at my waist (if only I had the Elite at my back), boot knives, and Kokiri's pouch, filled to the brim with other various weapons and tools and Hero-of-Time-Gear.

"Enough weapons?" Eldrick asks casually. "Are we compensating for something, perhaps?" I throw him a withering look.

"Someone's got to have enough bite to make up for your bark," I return flatly, reaching into my pouch and pulling out my hat. "I'm going to need your help getting in."

"What?" Eldrick demands, staring blankly at me.

"I said I'm going to need your help getting in," I repeat slowly, as though speaking to a child. I adjust the hat on my head. "What, are you afraid of getting into a fight? You have martial training, don't you? I thought the Eldricks prided themselves on their military heritage."

"We do!" Eldrick says, bristling. "Every last one of us serves at least a year in the army. I served last year."

"Then are you going to help me or not?"

"Why in Din's name would I help you more than I have? If you want to pit yourself against Agahnim in some suicide mission, that's your business!"

"Because if I fail, you're dead anyway," I respond flatly. "If the guards catch me we're all screwed. Therefore logically, I'll need your help to avoid the guards."

"You're on your own. I've already done more than I should," he says flatly. I narrow my eyes at him.

"You know, I always knew you were a lot of things, Eldrick," I say flatly. "But I never thought you were a coward." His face reddens and his eyes narrow.

"I am no coward," he growls.

"Sure you aren't," I say. "Whatever, forget I said it. You just run back home to your sheltered, pampered little life and you stay there. If you're not man enough to stand up openly for what you believe in then I don't want your help anyway."

"Take that back!" He growls, getting to his feet as the carriage pulls to a stop.

"Sorry," I say, getting to my feet as well and glaring at him, "can't take back the truth."

The door opens and a lanky servant man peers in.

"Sir Link," he says, "Lord Eldrick. We have arrived."

"Renaud," Eldrick growls, "get my rapier. I have business in the palace."

"Forget that _toy_ ," I snap. "I've seen it. All shine and glitter, no bite." I pull one of my scimitars out of its sheath at my waist and jam its hilt into Eldrick's stomach. "Use this. Maybe then you won't die on me in the first fight."

"I don't need your _Gerudo_ weapon," he snarls, taking the sword as though it was poisonous.

"Well your little _Hylian_ weapon, isn't," I snap. "It's for show, not for fights. Take it if you prefer, but don't say I didn't warn you." I drop the sheath for the scimitar on the seat and turn to the door, hopping out of the carriage.

"Let's get this over with," Eldrick mutters, following me out of the carriage. "Renaud, find some place to stow the carriage and wait for me to get back." He starts heading towards the front doors to the palace. I grab his arm and pull him back.

"Not so fast," I say as he wrenches his arm out of my grip and glares at me. "I can't just waltz in the front doors. I'll be recognized on sight and we'll _never_ make it to Agahnim if we have to fight our way through the whole palace."

"Well how _else_ do you expect to get up to the top floor?" Eldrick demands in a hiss. I reach into my pouch and pull out my hook shot.

"Never underestimate the Hero of Time," I say with a smirk. I turn to Renaud. "Can you distract the guards at the door?"

"What is that contraption?" Eldrick demands.

"Hook shot. It's a mechanical grappling hook.

"Done," Renaud says before Eldrick can say anything. "We will wait for you at that window—" he points "—and open it for you once we are there." I raise an eyebrow at Eldrick who grinds his teeth.

"Fine," he says, whirling on a heel, cape swirling over his shoulders and stalks off towards the guards. I glare at his back.

Pompous, arrogant, _ass_.

I crouch on one side of the carriage and peer cautiously around the corner, waiting until Eldrick has engaged the guards in an animated discussion about something. From the few words that drift over to me I gather that it's about how much Gerudo suck.

Pompous, arrogant, _petty_ , ass.

I take aim at the roof with my hookshot and release the catch. The grappling hook rockets out and latches into the roof with a far off _thunk_. I peer back around but neither of the guards seems to have heard it.

The next instant I'm flying through the air towards the roof of the palace, landing roughly in the thick snow that's piled up there, just barely able to dig my heels into it in time to stop my slipping downward and falling off the roof. I pause a moment, then draw in a deep breath.

Hookshotting onto a sloped roof in the winter time is a little more dangerous than I thought. I pull my hookshot out of the roof and shove it back into my pouch then lay there waiting for the sound of the window opening below me. The snow is seeping through my coat by the time I finally hear it.

"Sir Link?" Someone whispers from below. I scramble over to the edge and peer down. Renaud offers me a quiet smile. "Quickly," he says. "Lord Eldrick is diverting the guard's attention." I turn myself around and grip the edge of the roof tightly as I lower myself down and into the window. Renaud is already across the hallway and pulling open a barely visible door in the wall as I pull the window shut. "Quickly," he says, gesturing me into the servants' paths. I scramble over and slip into the door. Renaud follows me in and shuts it quickly.

"This is too easy," I breathe, leaning up against the other wall, no hint of sarcasm in my voice. "This is too easy."

"What do you mean?" Renaud asks.

"Breaking in," I answer. "This is too easy. It should be harder than this. We're already on Agahnim's floor."

"Well," Renaud says, "I doubt they expected you to have such an … efficient way of scaling the palace …"

"They know all about my hookshot," I tell him. "A couple years ago Hunter and I helped to patch up the holes in palace security. I would break in any way I could and he and the palace guards had to try and stop me. I used every last tool I had available to me, they should have been ready for just about anything, unless they've forgotten what changes we made, but somehow I doubt that …"

Out in the hallway Eldrick hisses for Renaud. I shake my head.

"Go on," I say. "You two get out." Renaud raises an eyebrow at me.

"I assure you, Sir Link," he says, "Lord Eldrick is every bit as good as he claims he is, and I am no stranger to combat myself. We would like to help you." I shake my head again.

"It's not that simple," I say. "Something isn't right. I appreciate your help getting me in here, but something tells me I'm not going to have any troubles getting to Agahnim from here. He's just down the hallway."

"The guards—"

"Will likely be conveniently distracted," I answer darkly. "Renaud, Agahnim _knows_ I'm here. He _knows_ I'm coming. He … he _wants_ me to come."

"Why?" Renaud asks.

"Wish I knew," I answer. "At any rate, it's time for me to head out on my own. I'm not going to involve you and him any further. You better go, he sounds like he's getting angry. He'll bring the guards down on us if he gets any louder." Renaud gives a reluctant nod and quick bow, then slides out into the hallway, where Eldrick proceeds to demand where I am as Renaud closes the door behind him. I glare at the blank wall and spend a moment indulging my petty, childish dislike of Eldrick.

Even if you ignore the fact that he helped Durnam betray me and Neesha (for whatever reason), and the fact that we've been political enemies since day one, and he and his whole family has it in for me … the fact of the matter is really quite simple: I don't like him. I don't like his face. I don't like his voice. I don't like the way he _moves_ , and _sits,_ and _breathes._

Like I said. Childish.

I shift my weight, but make no move.

It's funny really.

Not so long ago at all I was ready to tear in here waving my sword and raving like a mad man, and now I'd rather stand in a dimly lit hallway, staring at a door and listening to the sound of retreating footsteps than head towards what I have to do.

I still can't shake the feeling that something is going to go horribly wrong.

As though it already hasn't. Neesha's been captured and is likely gone by now. Agahnim has all seven maidens. What else does he need?

 _Me,_ comes the answer from nowhere. _He needs me._ I shake my head.

Well … if he needs me, he's got me, and everything that comes with me.

I draw the Master Sword, drawing strength from its familiar weight, and turn in the direction of Agahnim's quarters.

Whatever the outcome, there's no escaping this now.

Nothing for it, but to go. And with any luck, even if he _does_ have something up his sleeve maybe I can do some damage before he pulls it.

It takes me less than five minutes to get to Agahnim's chambers. There isn't a soul around – not in the servant's paths or the hallways. My first thought is that Agahnim has directed them elsewhere somehow, but this whole area has a heavy, oppressive, frightening feeling to it, and I quickly revise my opinion.

There's no one here, probably because who in their right mind would _want_ to be here?

It feels the way Ganondorf's room in the fortress feels. The way Koume and Kotake felt. It _reeks_ of black magic. You would think in the face of this my resolve would weaken – Din knows it's happened before – but instead I can feel it strengthening as I approach the ornate double doors that lead to Agahnim's chambers. This is familiar. This is my turf. This is what I do.

And come Hell or high water, I'm going to do it.

The Master Sword begins to glow. In the blue light it casts I can see a shimmering over the door. That would be the barrier. I run the light over it until, at the very centre of it, I locate its source. A flickering, barely visible symbol, resembling a keese glares outward. I narrow my eyes and grip the hilt of my sword tighter. It flares blue and I raise it over my head, bringing it down hard at the middle of the door. It strikes the barrier and the barrier comes alive, sparking with black lightning, centered on the symbol in the middle of it. I clench my jaw and drive my weight forward against it, straining as it fights to dislodge me.

The next instant, though, I feel it give beneath me. The symbol and the barrier disappear with an unearthly shriek and tendrils of smoke. I've broken through.

I stumble forward, put off balance by the sudden lack of resistance and catch myself against the doors, panting.

Nayru, Farore and Din, that was hard! He really didn't want anyone getting in there.

I push the door open wide enough to slip into the small antechamber, scanning the room for any threats or obstacles with narrowed eyes. There's no light in here except for what light from the moon outside manages to shine in from between the thick, velvet drapes on the far wall. Dim forms in the shape of furniture are scattered about the room – all of it with an old, gothic feel. For a room that's supposed to be used for welcoming guests, it's not very welcoming.

On the upside, it's empty of life except for me.

From here, if I remember Bel and Mel's descriptions correctly, there are four more rooms: a bedroom to the left, a study to the right, an audience chamber straight ahead, and a secret room behind that. That's where I need to be.

That's where I'll find him.

That's where I'll find Zelda.

My breath quickens. She's here. I know she is. Block or no block, I can sense her. It's faint, but its stronger than its been since Agahnim sank his slimy claws into her. I can feel my temper flare up violently when my mind slips back to the wizard using Zelda's body to attack me. It burns away at the edges of my dread as I slip forward across the room, heading for the door at the back. That's the nice thing about anger, sometimes. It takes up so much of your energy and attention that you really haven't got _room_ inside for any other emotions. I take advantage of it now, fanning the fire of my temper against the dread in my stomach. It doesn't make me feel better, as per se, but it takes away from some of the appeal that suicide was starting to have, which is a step in the right direction if you ask me.

I press myself against the wall by the door and strain my ears, listening for any sign of life from the room beyond. There is nothing that I can hear. I reach out with a tentative hand and try the knob. It's unlocked. I carefully push it open and peer in through the crack. The room beyond is pitch black, no windows to let moonlight in, but in the shaft of dim silver light that creeps in through the crack in the door I can see Agahnim's throne. It's a massive piece of furniture and looks exactly like you would expect an evil black magician's throne to look. In my own, personal opinion it's over the top. Anybody who's going to carve skulls into his furniture needs help as far as I'm concerned. I narrow my eyes at it.

It reminds me of the map Zelda gave me, and I really don't think I'm happy about that.

I push the door open a bit wider, take a deep breath, and proceed into the room.

_Don't shut behind me, don't shut behind me, don't shut behind—_

The door creaks shut behind me, swallowing the room in darkness, and I can feel an oath on my lips.

I _knew_ it.

"Goddess-damned son of a—" The only warning I get of any kind of attack is the sound of a sword clearing it's sheath, but its enough. I whirl around to face the sound and bring up the Master Sword, letting it flare up with blue fire as I do so. Another sword slams into it and I dig in my heels against the force of it. In the sapphire light I meet Liam's dead-eyed gaze without surprise.

"Sorry Liam," I grunt, pulling my sword away from his and counter-attacking, "but I haven't got time to play with you. I have a date with the Wizard."

"He has given orders not to be disturbed," Liam replies flatly, ducking under my swing and lashing out at my legs with his own sword. "His preparations are not to be interrupted." I leap over his sword and peddle backwards, just missing his second follow-up swipe.

"Preparations for what?" I demand, reversing direction and lunging downwards at him. "And why do I care?" He twists and deflects my thrust with his blade, using my momentum to get in closer than I want him to be and shoves me violently backwards. I stumble back a step and trip over some goddess-damned piece of furniture, tumbling to the ground. I lose my grip on the Master Sword and its flames go out as I hear it skittering across the floor and away from me.

Twenty rupees says Liam can see in the dark.

I pull my knees up to my chest and drive them into whatever little footstool I tripped over, sending it flying the direction Liam was right before my light went out. I hear a satisfying thud and snarl a moment later and I twist around to my hands and knees and scramble in the direction that the Master Sword went, feeling frantically around the floor for it.

Just as my fingers finally find the cool metal something long and sharp slides down my side and I cry out in surprise, rolling away from the pain and my sword. Not that I roll far. A foot slams into my chest and pins me where I am. I don't need the light to know that Liam is probably raising his sword to finish me off right now.

A single, dumb idea occurs to me.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Din's … _fire_!" I shout, calling the magic to me and releasing it in the same instant. Liam screams suddenly in pain and panic and his weight is lifted off my chest as he stumbles backwards. I spare a brief thought for hoping I didn't do any permanent damage to him or Marni will never forgive me, then scramble for my sword, which is glinting in the light from the fire that is burning not only in the torches set along the walls, but on the curtains, the furniture, and the papers on the desk in the corner as well. I spare another brief thought for hoping Zelda forgives me for burning her house down.

Damn that spell is dangerous inside buildings. You never really realize how flammable things are until you set fire to them.

Liam is back up now, smoking, singed, and looking as pissed of as a mind-controlled person can, but it's too late for him, because on my way back up to my feet I've sheathed my sword and pulled out my Ocarina.

He takes two steps towards me before the song starts to take effect. He stops abruptly and his eyes go wide. I continue to play, narrowing my eyes at him, the Song of Healing spilling out of the Ocarina. Liam gives a small shriek and his hands go to his head, clutching it at the temples as the notes drive him to his knees. He continues to cry out as the song forces Agahnim to relinquish control of him.

I'm almost at the end when I hear another cry – not Liam's – from somewhere behind me.

I'd know that scream anywhere.

Liam goes limp behind me and falls to the ground, but my attention is no longer on him. I whirl around and notice something I hadn't before. The large tapestry behind Agahnim's throne has burned away in the fire and through it I can see a scene right out of my nightmares.

Agahnim stands behind an altar in the room beyond, chanting and tracing intricate patterns in the air above the cold stone slab set into the floor. On top of the altar, floating just above it, her hair and skirts whipping around wildly in the force of the magic being cast around her, is Zelda, her eyes wide but groggy, as though she's just woken up. Her eyes meet mine and though I can't hear her voice over the crackling of the flames and Agahnim's chanting – rising to a crescendo now – I can see the shape her lips make and I know she's calling my name.

"No …," I whisper. Her form starts to blur and my face contorts with fear and fury. I push myself forward, running as fast as I ever have towards that altar. "NO!"

But I'm too late.

Agahnim ends his chant on a single, ugly syllable and brings his hands together over Zelda just as I reach her. She reaches out to me, her hands transparent and blurred already, but by the time I'm close enough to grab them she's gone.

Just like that.

My momentum carries me into the altar as Agahnim moves backward at a speed that belies his age and he laughs.

It's a hollow, dry laugh … like a corpse might make, spewing out stale, dead air with each gasp of lungs that don't work anymore.

"You're too late, Hero!" Agahnim crows as I clench my fists against the altar's stone, closing my eyes against the blind fury pounding in my veins. "The seventh maiden has been set in place! The spell is complete! The seals on the Dark World are suspended, and Hyrule's _death_ rushes to meet her as we speak!" I push myself off the altar, unable to focus on anything except the sound of Agahnim's laughing. Unable to comprehend anything more than the fact that I want him to stop. That I will wrap my hands around his neck and wring it until he stops. Until I have silenced that dead laugh forever.

My dread, my concern, my caution … all of it is burned up in the anger that rises in me as quickly as the antechamber was consumed by Din's fire – which is slowly eating its way into this room as well.

"And now, Hero," Agahnim spits contemptuously, "you're time is up. So much for Hyrule's last defender." He raises his hand and speaks a sharp word of command. Black lightning coalesces in his palm and I throw myself to the side to dodge the bolt, pulling the Master Sword from its sheath once more as I go. There is no hesitation this time. It's on fire before it's even out of its sheath. I finish my spin and stop, glaring at Agahnim through eyes narrowed into slits, teeth bared in a savage expression.

He meets my gaze with wry, twisted lips and eyes that dance with malice. He looks older than I remember him being. Uglier. He looks like he sounds. Like a dead thing, brought back to dance in mockery of life. The thick robes hide his frail body, but they can't hide his power. It radiates off of him. He's made a deal with the devil and has become a devil himself.

"Why have you come, Hero?" He asks in his stalfos' voice. "For justice? For vengeance?"

"For you," I answer murderously, raising my sword and pointing it at him in an ageless gesture. "I've come for you."

"Then come," Agahnim answers. "Come and do your best. It won't be enough. It will _never_ be enough. You cannot stop the events I have put into motion! You cannot fight my power!"

"Then I'll die trying."

I raise the Master Sword and start towards him as he raises his hands and a shaft of black lightning explodes outwards from them and towards me.

I am dimly aware of a weak voice shouting from the doorway that leads back to the burning room not to do it. Not to kill him. Something about a trap, and the little voice in the back of my mind that tells me when I'm being stupid is _begging_ me to heed the warning, screaming that something's wrong, but I'm committed now. There's no stopping this.

I raise the Master Sword and it flares brilliantly as I slam straight into the black pillar of lightning, sword first, sending it peeling off to either side as I continue my run at Agahnim right up its centre. He cuts the spell off when he realizes it's not working and raises his hands to try another but it's too late for that. I'm on top of him.

I raise my sword and bring it down across his body once … twice … then drive it through his middle, right up to the hilt, our momentum carrying us backwards so that he is effectively impaled on the wall.

Agahnim coughs, blood on his lips which are still twisted into a s skeletal grin.

"Fool," he coughs, amusement in his voice, growing weaker by the second. "You fool!"

"Link!" Shouts someone – Liam – from behind me. "Sir Link! Get away from him! He's going to—"

"You have no _idea_ of the power I wield!" Agahnim cries with a gasp. A thin, gnarled old hand comes up and grabs at my chest, wrapping itself in my tunic.

"What—" I move to pull away, shocked out of my fury, but the blood red jewel on the back of the glove he wears flashes and I suddenly find I can't move. "What—?"

"You want your precious princess?" Agahnim demands, an insane glitter in his eye. "Then join her! Her and all the others!" He starts to laugh – it sounds worse than before. He's dying now and you can hear it.

This is it.

This is the thing I've been dreading.

This is the thing I was afraid of.

Agahnim's planned this all along. This is why he wanted me to kill him. I've triggered something. Some spell the old mage had hidden.

Whatever happens next isn't going to be good.

"Liam!" I shout. "Liam, go! Get out! Find the Sages! Tell them—" My frantic message is cut off as the jewel flashes again and pain so intense I can't see explodes from it, slamming into every nerve in my body and setting them all to screaming. It's like every pain I've ever felt – from the paper cuts I'd get dealing with Bruiser's damn advertising flyers to having my entire body crushed by Ganon back before I'd changed time – has been resurrected within me. My thoughts are driven, against my will to all the worst points in my life. Every sadness, every despair, every rage, every hopeless moment of my life asserts it's claim on my mind at the same time.

The world turns to blue around us, but it's not the blue of Time. This blue is sick; shot through with black and acid green, like oxidized gold. Agahnim clutches me harder and his laughs turn into shrieks of morbid mirth, but I'm not even really aware of it.

After an instant that feels like forever the light (if it can be called light) disappears and the world reforms, only it's not any world I know. Agahnim releases me at last and I fall back with a gasp, scrambling away from him, only to find myself without anywhere to scramble back to. I gasp and twist around, staring with wide, uncomprehending eyes at my surroundings.

I am on the very top of some kind of tan coloured palace of a vaguely pyramid shape. The landscape and horizon are familiar, but twisted. The tops of the mountains which have always hemmed Hyrule in are obscured by a thick grey cloud, from within which lightning flashes can be seen, and the occasional burst of dull red from within the clouds in the general direction of where Death Mountain should be. The trees are twisted and tortured, some of them even look like they have faces frozen in an expression of pain. There is movement on the ground below me, but whether you could call it life, I don't know. A veritable _army_ of first-generation Moblins mills around the base of the palace, interspersed with other creatures; stalfos, Stalchildren, and others. The sky is black with clouds that roil as though a storm is about to break, and a single black, formless shape streaks across it, screaming an unearthly cry that saps the strength from my heart …

And my hand, where the Triforce mark sits, burns as though it was on fire.

I cry out wordlessly, unable to express any kind of coherent thought beyond that, and clutch at my hand, turning around to stare in horror at Agahnim's shuddering form, watching as he chokes on his laughter.

"What have you done?" I demand with a snarl, fury raging in me once more, more violent than I've ever felt it. It frightens me, but I can't resist it. I lunge for him, grabbing him by the robes and shaking him. "Where have you taken us?" His laughs settle into chuckles witch in turn settle into a cruel grin as his features and body begin to decompose rapidly, turning to dust in my hands as the magic holding him together bleeds out of him with what's left of his life. His answer is barely audible, thick with blood and death, and drives a chill right into the heart of me.

"To Hell," he says, and then he's gone; nothing left of the old wizard but his robes and a skeleton, still grinning its rictus grin.

Before I can even begin to comprehend the implications of his answer, the clouds break suddenly and a single shaft of moonlight slips between them and hits me like fire.

My mind goes white with pain once more …

… and then I lose it, and myself, and I know nothing anymore.


	13. The Pale One

#  **Chapter 13 and Interludes**

_"The strongest and the fiercest spirit  
That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair."_

—John Milton, Paradise Lost —

_"It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air — there's the rub, the task. "_

— Virgil, The Aeneid —

_"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our Hell."_

— Oscar Wilde —

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Ruto cut effortlessly through the water, less affected by the temperature than her companions – who were lacking their usual grace and speed and were in fact being decidedly sluggish, all things considered. Not that she blamed them. They were used to the warm springs of Zora's River, not the icy depths of Lake Hylia in the winter time. Acqul was the only one being decidedly chipper about the whole ordeal, but that, she suspected, was a side effect of having spent too much time in the desert _without_ water. Lake Hylia might have been freezing cold and with a practically unbreakable layer of ice over the top of it, but it was still water. She supposed she couldn't blame him for that, either.

She briefly wondered how Laruto would have taken to the cold before crushing the thought mercilessly. She hadn't allowed herself to think of her daughter much since she had been captured. She had nearly killed herself with worry the first week after she had gone missing, and for the sake of her kingdom, her family, and herself she couldn't let that happen. A princess carried on. A _queen_ carried on. There was little she could do for Laruto at this point except pray and have faith that somehow, someway the Goddesses would come through and deliver them all safely.

It had been harder, though, lately, to keep her mind from straying back to her daughter. After what Sahasrahla had said …

_The Dark World?_ She thought despite herself. _My baby's in the Dark World?_ She shook her head furiously and pushed herself faster, going through an unnecessarily complicated series of twists and loops to try and force herself to remain focused.

She had never seen the Dark World. Never been there. Not physically. But she had felt it, sensed it on the edge of her perception whenever she was in the Sacred Realm. What was left of the Sacred Realm, anyway. The little corner of it that Rauru had managed to preserve from Ganondorf's corruption.

It didn't feel good. It was a frightening thing. A thing of shadows and nightmares. No place for a three year old. Especially not _her_ three year old.

It was a jealous thought, and she felt bad about it, though she made no attempts to drive it from her mind. She could see other mothers in the canals and streams of Zora's river, playing with their children, many of them little girls like Laruto. And every time, despite herself, despite all of her training as royalty, all of her work as a Sage, she wished it could have been one of those children instead of hers.

She wished no harm on anyone, _especially_ not her own people, but this was her _baby_ they were talking about.

Ruto's life was sacrifice, she knew that. As a princess. She was expected to sacrifice _everything_ for her kingdom if it came down to that, and she would. Willingly. It was why her father had always spoiled her so badly. Because he knew that a royal's life is one of sacrifice. So he gave her everything she wanted, everything he could because the possibility that she might have to one day give it all up and more was always there. It was kind of like a trade-off, she supposed.

And as a Sage. She was expected to sacrifice everything and more for _Hyrule_ , which, whether the world believed it or not, included the Gerudo too. She wasn't talking about the Kingdom. Hyrule was more than just a kingdom. Hyrule was more than just borders and treaties and alliances. Hyrule was the gateway to the Sacred Realm (or what had once been the Sacred Realm). Hyrule was the gateway to the Goddesses. Hyrule was more than even she knew, and she was one of its greatest protectors. And the trade off for that? It wasn't toys and sweets and frivolous things, it was power. Power over her element. That was the deal. That was the trade off.

Power and riches, for responsibility and sacrifice. It had never been a problem for her before.

But to sacrifice her child … her little girl …

All her training, all her knowledge, all her understanding of her duty came up to nothing against that thought.

She didn't know if she could do it.

The princess in her told her that sometimes, for the good of a Kingdom, sacrifices have to be made. You can't protect everyone in your kingdom, and sometimes you may have to leave some behind to save the rest.

The Sage in her told her that sometimes, for the good of all that is, sacrifices have to be made. You have to sacrifice yourself so that other people won't have to. In order to protect everything, you can't shield everyone.

But the Mother in her … the Mother in her ranted and railed against those other two and screamed that she would burn the world down if that was what it took to get her daughter back. That no matter what or who she had to sacrifice, it would be cheap at twice the price if she could just have her Laruto back.

Back and happy and safe.

She jumped in surprise as someone cut in front of her, back paddling quickly to keep from crashing into him. Acqul arched a brow as he panted and pointed backwards. Ruto turned around and noticed that she had quite outdistanced her companions (she could barely make them out) and felt a bit of a blush creep into her cheeks. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts she'd forgotten she was with other people, and none of them a Sage of Water.

Acqul wrapped one arm around her and pulled her into a tight hug with it. He held out his free hand where she could see it.

_Are you all right?_ He signed, his fingers moving stiffly in the cold. She appreciated his effort at signing. The Zora had other ways of communicating under water (exclusive to their race seeing as the other races of Hyrule just weren't built to even _hear_ the language without heavy magical help), but they were not private, and her people were worried enough about her without adding this onto the list. She sighed heavily and shook her head. _You need to stay focused,_ he signed, kissing her on the cheek to take whatever sting she may have found out of his rebuke. _The portal is around here somewhere, and if what the old man said is true …_

_I know,_ she signed back. _I'm focused now. Besides,_ she added, _unless the Moblins have suddenly learned to breathe underwater, I don't think we have much to worry about from—_

Before she could finish the dark water was suddenly infused with a burst of light, bright enough to force the couple to shield their eyes in shock.

_It's coming from the tower!_ Ruto cried, abandoning the sign language, and squinting in horror towards the source of the light. The base of the Tower of Farore was shining through the depths of the Lake, making it painful to look toward it.

_What's going on?_ Acqul demanded, his voice tense. _What is it doing?_

_Something's gone wrong,_ Ruto replied, suddenly afraid. _It shouldn't be—_ She stopped in mid sentence and froze, catching a sudden scent in the water. Acqul tensed a split second later.

_Blood … Zora blood …_

They exchanged a horrified glance, but wasted no more time than that before swimming back towards where they had left their companions as fast as they could go.

***

Darunia frowned down at the opening to the cave with a bad taste in his mouth. Impa and her Sheikah had slipped quietly into it to investigate, but that had been a quarter of an hour ago. He knew the portal was in there, could feel the taint that whispered from it, but it shouldn't have taken them this long to find it. They should have been back by now, or have sent some word. That had been the arrangement.

"Come on, Impa," he rumbled. "Where are—" He cut himself off with a surprised cry as a sudden, unexpected shaft of light shot out of the mountains, cutting through the sky and illuminating the mountain range.

"Darunia!"

"What is it?"

"What's going on?"

Darunia shielded his eyes with one hand and gestured with the other for his soldiers to be quiet. He squinted out at the pillar of light, drawing a mental map in his head to its source and confirming his suspicions.

"It's the Tower of Din," he growled. "It shouldn't be … unless Neesha … Farore, Nayru, and Din!"

"Big Brother?"

"Forget the original plan, brothers!" He cried. "We're going in!" No questions asked, the Gorons dropped as one and curled up into balls, tumbling down the slope like an avalanche.

An avalanche with spikes.

Darunia had chosen the men for this mission carefully. Every last one of them was a weathered veteran. Every last one of them had fought first-generation Moblins before. Every last one of them knew the spike technique.

He knew what was awaiting them in that cave, and hoped they would be in time to aid the Sheikah.

It was time to remind the world that the right to be as laid back as the Gorons were was a privilege bought and protected with the blood of generations.

They skidded into the cave with a deafening clatter, taking the tight turns of the tunnel with the ease and expertise granted only by experience.

It was time to remind the world of why a people as fun-loving as the Gorons had once been feared and respected on the field of battle.

As they rounded the final corner and the sound of battle surrounded them they didn't hesitate. They cut a surprised swath through the gathered Moblins without so much as a shudder and cut straight through to the Sheikah on the other side.

Darunia de-balled and turned on the Moblins, bellowing a wordless battle cry, fists already on fire.

It was time to remind the Moblins of how some things never changed.

***

"Fall back!" Nabooru screamed, ducking under the wide slash of the Moblin she was fighting. She stabbed at it in attempt to drive her scimitar into a gap in its armour, but it twisted and took the hit on its buckler instead. She was forced to follow her own order as it swung at her again. "Fall back!"

The Elite responded with varied dismayed noises at what was always an unwelcome order, but were entirely too well trained to hesitate over disobeying in the middle of combat.

Besides, they could all see the necessity behind it, frustrating though that necessity was.

They'd found the portal a half hour ago, jutting inexplicably up out of the sand, the only landmark visible for miles. At the time it had been jealously guarded by a small clan of Moblins, maybe only thirty of them, tops. The clans that tended to form when Moblins were left to their own devices without any kind of power over them were usually bigger than that, but Moblins weren't known for their generous natures, and having found the portal, the clan didn't want to give it up. From the look of those left milling around the portal and in the small camp they'd made, there had been skirmishes and slowly but surely, other clans had been whittling their way through.

But if the Moblins weren't very good at sharing, then the Gerudo were abominable at it, and the Gerudo considered the desert theirs.

And besides, they needed at that portal.

So they'd swooped down and decimated what Moblins didn't flee – and there were a large number of them all things considered. The proximity of the portal seemed to give them some kind of courage they generally didn't display. Nabooru had a feeling it was the taint she could sense around the blasted thing. The Moblins – even these diluted, bastardized Moblins who had never _seen_ the Dark World – could smell _home_ from there, and were loath to give it up.

Which, of course, Nabooru had no problem with. As far as she was concerned if this pathetic, dying clan wanted to stand their ground and be cut down, then good. The less Moblins roaming her desert and throwing themselves against her walls, the better.

Granted, she was biased. She hated Moblins more than anyone she knew, probably even Link, who truth be told had a beef or two with the ugly things. But it wasn't without reason. As Sage of Spirit she could gain insight into the heart of anything that had one. And in the heart of the Moblins …

She saw in them, what she'd seen in Ganondorf, only undiluted, and without any of the saving qualities that Ganondorf had once had. Even at his worst there were still remnants of those qualities. The things that made him human. The things that made her understand him and the things he did maybe just a bit better than the others who were without that insight. It didn't make his actions right, by any means, nor did it render him forgivable, and she'd resolved long ago to never forgive Ganondorf. It just made him seem less … random. Less chaotic.

Through her abilities as a Sage, she'd learned that people rarely did things without reason, whether or not that reason was readily apparent. She'd learned that the line between most extremes was thinner than anyone thought it was, and any vice seen through the right light could be a virtue, and any virtue a vice.

But the Moblins … you couldn't view their vices in a different light because there _was_ no light in them. They were creatures born of Ganondorf's nightmares, the manifestation of his corruption, and their existence was the anti-thesis to hers. Her job was to cleanse and preserve the spirit and soul of Hyrule and they were there to corrupt it. To twist it and dirty it and murder it, and that she would not abide.

And so she hadn't minded at all when they had decided to stand their ground and fight and die. In fact she'd felt a fierce sort of pleasure that she wouldn't have to chase them halfway across the desert to remove their taint.

But then the Tower of Nayru had exploded with light, and so had the portal.

The Moblins they'd been fighting were all dead, but new Moblins – first-generation Moblins – began to pour out of the portal. Thank the Goddess that the damned thing was only big enough to fit one at a time or they'd have been completely overwhelmed. As it was they were unprepared for the onslaught and it wasn't long before they were outnumbered.

The best among the Elite could take out a normal Moblin with a single hit, nine times out of ten before the stupid beast even realized he was being attacked.

But the Dark World Moblins weren't _normal_ , and they had already lost three Elite to the attack. She offered a silent prayer as they pushed back towards their horses that they hadn't been any of Link's favourites. The boy didn't deal well with the deaths of those he cared about. It was one of the many Hylian habits of his she'd never been able to break him of, and she didn't relish seeing that stony face that meant he was currently being overwhelmed by his emotions and was doing his best not to show it.

"Go." It was Aliza, twisting in beside her under the swing of a Moblin sword. "Take the others and go. Run. Treia, Nira and I will hold them back and give you time to get to your horses. The base needs to be warned, and the King needs to be prepared." Nabooru slashed angrily at a Moblin that got too close and this time her blade drew blood.

"We're not leaving you behind to face this alone," she growled. "Now do as I say and fall back."

"You sound like the King!" Aliza growled back. "Put your heart aside and use your head. You know as well as I do that we'll never make it to the horses without this sacrifice. Go!"

Nabooru resisted the urge to blink at Aliza in shock at the argument, and as she slashed at the Moblin again she blamed Link for the whole situation. Link was the one who had made her loath to leave people behind like this. To abandon them to death, even a Gerudo's death. He'd had more of an influence on her than she'd realized, and on the Elite as well. This defiance … this was learned from Link too. He'd taught the Elite to question orders they knew to be wrong, taught them the value of expressing their opinions and ideas rather than simply waiting for orders.

The changes were slight, but they were there.

And she couldn't decide – beyond annoyance at this new chink in the once perfect Gerudo armour – how she felt about that. She shook her head and looked at Aliza.

"I honour your sacrifice," she said, then raised her voice and called the retreat, trying not to think about how Link was going to react to the news that they'd lost three Elite to the Moblins and she'd sacrificed three more.

***

##  **Chapter 13**

Oh Goddess …

Everything hurts …

A hoarse moan escapes my lips and startles my groggy mind back to consciousness – a mistake, if I've ever made one. Consciousness is not my friend. I try to swear, but all that comes out is another moan.

What the Hell happened to me? One minute I was trying to strangle Agahnim's corpse, and the next …

_No good_ , my addled brain tries to tell me. _This is no good! This is not the time to lie here with your eyes shut!_

My eyes and body beg to differ. Everything really does hurt. _Everything_. Not the metaphysical, no-connection-to-a-physical-location pain I felt when Agahnim dragged me here. It's more of an every-bone-in-my-body-is-broken pain.

Farore … I think everything is …

I try to force my eyes open, but it's harder than I thought. My head is pounding, and on the edges of my consciousness I understand inherently there is an even worse pain waiting there, in the general vicinity of my arm, for when I finally get my wits together and manage to gain some semblance of self-awareness.

I toy with the idea of giving up entirely and letting myself fall back unconscious but something that is definitely not me but is likely sitting on me or something shifts on my chest and sends a white trail of agony up me. I gasp and at last my eyes open … then promptly slam shut as I hiss at the light that blinds and burns them.

Goddess …

I just can't catch a break …

The thing that is sitting on me makes a noise.

"Ki," it says. "Ki, ki, ki …?" It sounds like a question. Sort of. Insofar as it sounds like anything at all.

I feel like my whole head is wrapped in gauze.

"Who's there?" I demand.

Or at least … I try to. What comes out instead is a sound I've never made before and I sincerely hope to never make again. Kinda like a groan, kinda like a snarl, kinda like a whimper, or some random combination of all three.

"Ki!" Sharp, alarmed. The weight on my chest disappears and I raise my right arm to shield my eyes as I force them open again. It hurts like a bitch. I can feel the oh-so-familiar feeling of a hole in it. I've been stabbed.

When the _Hell_ did I get stabbed?

While I was out?

Who stabs unconscious people? Unless, of course, you wanted the unconscious person dead. Which begs the question:

Who stabs unconscious people and misses?

"Ki, ki …" Tentative, questioning. I try to speak again.

"Who … _agh_!" Trying to move was a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea.

The pain that I'd been afraid of, that had been hovering on the edges of my awareness pounces on my poor, defenceless nerves the instant I try to push myself up with my left arm. I crumple back onto the ground with something a little too close to a scream for my liking and clutch at my bad arm with my other bad arm (Farore I'm doing well).

It's broken.

What the Hell is going on? What happened to me?

I push the pain to the back of my mind and start taking a slow, almost fearful inventory of all my vital organs, limbs and other important pieces of my body. All present and accounted for, if bloodied, bruised, and otherwise damaged. I have a nasty gash on my left side, and my right arm has definitely been stabbed (as well as my right thigh), my head is pounding, I'm overheated, though whether from the temperature, which is something closer to mid-summer than mid-winter, or because I have a fever, I don't know. On this much, at least, I think luck is with me, and I think it's just the temperature. I don't feel sick, just hurt. Badly.

I shut my eyes tightly.

"I don't understand …"

"Ki, ki, ki …"

I snap my eyes open again and this time, instead of a bleak, cave wall, I'm staring into a pair of overly large black eyes. If my instincts weren't so fuzzy, I'd jerk back and away from it. I'm lucky I don't, as I think moving that fast would ultimately do more harm than good. As it is, I give a bit of a jump and the thing skitters back from me on all fours, crouching by the wall and peering at me with a fearful expression etched on a simian face.

"No hurt! No hurt!" It squeaks. I blink blearily at it.

"You, ngh … you speak?" It takes a cautious pace forward, creeping forward on all fours in a very monkey-like manner.

"A little, ki, ki," it says. "I forgets most."

"What … who …?" I close my eyes and force myself to roll back over onto my back, clenching my teeth against the ache from my arm. "Where am I?"

"My home!" Says the little creature, sounding more than a little indignant. "Mine!" I open my eyes again and peer around the small cave. The most remarkable thing in here is the pile of dead leaves in the corner, which I will assume serve as the little creature's bed, and a pile of discarded peels from Din knows what kind of fruit beside it. Beyond that … it's just a cave. And not a very deep one. Though I can't see the exit from here, light is pouring in from around the corner that I can see and I'm about as deep into it as you could get.

"Well excuse me," I mutter. "If I knew how I got here, I might apologize for intruding. As it is I think you're just going to have to put up with me bleeding all over your floor."

"No blood!" Squeaks the little thing. "No blood! You call nasties! Ki, ki!"

"If you don't want me to bleed, then find me some bandages," I say with a scowl. It stares at me blankly, mouthing the word bandages. I feel a sudden, intense sure of irritation that takes everything I have to swallow.

Great. Just great.

This is _perfect_.

"Never mind," I snap. "Just … never mind. Where are we?"

"My home—"

"I _know_ that!" I interrupt. "Where is _that_? Where is this cave?"

"Uh…" I grind my teeth.

"What are we close to?" I refine the question. "What are we near? Death Mountain? Castletown? Lake Hylia?" The monkey's face twists into a sorrowful expression.

"Oh," he says. "Ki, ki. You're _new_."

My heart goes still and a chill runs down my spine as the odd exchange calls up another recent exchange.

_"What have you done!" I demand with a snarl, fury raging in me once more, more violent than I've ever felt it. It frightens me, but I can't resist it. I lunge for him, grabbing him by the robes and shaking him. "Where have you taken us!" His laughs settle into chuckles witch in turn settle into a cruel grin as his features and body begin to decompose rapidly, turning to dust in my hands as the magic holding him together bleeds out of him with what's left of his life. His answer is barely audible, thick with blood and death, and drives a chill right into the heart of me._

_"To Hell…"_

"Oh no," I breath. "Oh Farore, no …"

"Yes," the little monkey says. "You knows, I thinks. You knows, ki, ki." I close my eyes and let my body go limp.

The Dark World …

I'm in the Dark World …

Oh Goddess … I'm so dead …

"Um," says the monkey, "um … you is being from the Hyrule?" I don't answer it, drowning for a moment in my own despair. "Um … sir? Beast sir? Is you being from the Hyrule?"

"What?" I ask, turning my head to peer at him.

"Hyrule."

"Yes," I say. "I'm from Hyrule." The monkey sidles closer still.

"You is … you is having Hyrule monies?" It asks, nose twitching, tail curved into a question mark over its head.

"What?" I demand, narrowing my eyes at it.

"Oh, Kiki will work for it, Beast sir! Kiki will! Please? If you is having Hyrule monies, you share with Kiki?" This is all just a little too surreal for my brain to take right now.

"What?" I repeat. I shake my head slowly. "Your name is Kiki?"

"Yes, ki, ki," he says. "Kiki is me. You have monies? You have shiny monies?"

"What do you need money for?" I demand.

"Oh please!" Kiki cries, coming close enough to grab at my tattered tunic and pull pleadingly on it – a fact which only serves to send a fresh wave of agony rippling through my arm. I hiss and Kiki immediately drops my arm. "Oh! Ki, ki, ki!" He cries.

"Kiki," I moan, "shut up … oh my Goddess, shut up! You're so loud!"

"Kiki will be quiet, Beast sir, ki, he will! If you gives him monies."

"Kiki will be quiet if he doesn't want me to rip his vocal chords out," I mutter under my breath, then add, louder, "Kiki, I can barely move right now, all right? Yes, I have money. I have lots of money. But I can't get it until I don't hurt so much. I need … oh for Nayru's sake, why am I even talking to you? You're a monkey, Farore."

"Tell Kiki, sir! Tell Kiki what it is you is being needing!" His expression is genuinely pleading as he stares up at me. "Please?"

"You don't even know what bandages are," I respond flatly.

"No … but Kiki is knowing someone who does!" He responds eagerly. "Kiki can fetch her! Kiki can fetch the Pale One!" And as fast as that he's gone, chittering happily as he runs around the corner.

"No! Kiki, wait!" I gasp, but it's too late. He's gone. I stare after him with a dark frown on my face that isn't entirely connected with the pain.

Whoever this Pale One is … I hope she's a friend …

I turn my eyes back to the ceiling and my frown darkens.

And why did he call me Beast sir?

***

The feeling of something cool and soft brings me back around.

Dammit … I must have passed out again. I'm going to get myself killed if I keep this up.

A small part of me frightens me by asking if that wouldn't be better after all.

I open my eyes slowly, having learned my lesson from last time well enough, and give them time to adjust to the light, but it isn't so bad this time. It's not as bright, anymore.

How long have I been out?

I raise my "good" arm to my forehead, but instead of touching my head, I meet long tapered fingers – apparently the cool and soft thing that brought me back around. I blink in surprise and look up, following the arm attached to the fingers until I meet another set of eyes; though perhaps "meet" is the wrong word.

What were likely once beautiful golden eyes are now clouded over with cataracts, the irises barely visible beneath the fog.

"You are awake," comments the mouth beneath the eyes with a pleased smile. The voice is warm and soothing. "I was wondering if I would have time to speak with you before nightfall." I blink a couple times and try to clear my head.

"Who …"

"This is being the pale one!" Says a happy voice to my other side. I shift my gaze to the little simian who is perched beside me. "I gots her. She knows bandages." The person with the cataracts smiles a bit sheepishly.

"Well," she says, "I had to use your coat and your tunic, I hope you don't mind. Medical supplies are hard to come by here."

Actually, come to think of it, I'm not sure she's a she. I squint up at her. Which isn't to say I'm sure she's a he either …

"If you stopped the bleeding, I'm not about to complain about how you did it," I manage. Something – three guesses what – pulls on my sleeve and I bite back my irritation. "What, Kiki? What?" Kiki shrinks a bit, but presses on nonetheless.

"Ki, you is having Hyrule monies now?" He asks timidly. "You is sharing with Kiki? Please? Ki, ki, prettily please?"

"Pretty please," the pale one corrects.

"Pretty please?" Kiki amends. "I loves them so! I do!" I narrow my eyes at it.

"If I pay you, will you be quiet and let me speak to the not-a-monkey-person?" I demand.

"Oh yes!" Says Kiki, eyes shining with anticipation. "I promises!"

"Fine," I mutter. "Where's my pouch?" Kiki immediately scampers a few steps over to the wall where I can now see all my things. I do a quick inventory of what I can see and am satisfied that none of it has gone missing.

Whatever these people are, they're not thieves.

Kiki runs back over with my pouch and drops it unceremoniously on my stomach. I reach into with my good hand and fish around until I catch hold of a red rupee. I have no idea what passes for a tip here in the Dark World, but he'll complain if it's not enough, I'm sure. I pull the money out and hold it out to him. He snatches it greedily as I turn back to squint at the pale one.

If nothing else, she's aptly named. Her skin is almost deathly pale, but I don't think she's suppose to look that way. Maybe deathly is an appropriate word after all. She's obviously _not_ from Hyrule. First off, there's the androgyny. Don't get me wrong, there are androgynous people in Hyrule, and plenty of them, but this woman – and I'm using the term as merely a point of reference – is _perfectly_ androgynous. I really haven't got a clue as to her gender. Secondly, she doesn't move like a normal person. She's about ten times as graceful as anyone I know, Zelda included, and this I can tell just from the way she sits and moves her head. Thirdly, there's the wings. Nobody in Hyrule has wings, but lo and behold, folded neatly behind her back are a large pair of feathered wings that must once have been beautiful. The feathers are limp and listless, now, though, and despite their size, they don't look nearly strong enough to hold her if she were to try and fly with them.

She's dressed in a simple blue tunic with relatively little embellishment (unless you count the fact that it's pretty tattered and worn embellishment) and matching leggings, but nothing on her feet, which, given the little claws on her toes, are decidedly not Hylian feet. Or any other kind of feet I've ever seen.

I frown in an attempt to drive off the headache I can feel coming on.

"What are you?" I ask, but before she can answer, something pulls on my sleeve. I close my eyes and grind my teeth. "Kiki, the deal was: I pay you, you leave me alone."

"I knows, Beast sir, I knows, ki, ki, ki," Kiki says, sounding suspiciously whiny. "But … Kiki is wondering … is you be having any _green_ monies, sir?" I turn to face him.

"What?" I demand. "What are you on about?"

"Ki, ki. Green monies, sir," Kiki says. "Can I trades the red monies for the green monies?" I stare at him.

"What? The red moni—rupee is worth more. It's better. Keep the red one." Kiki's simian face turns up into a decidedly petulant expression.

"The greens is prettier!" He complains. "I wants the prettier!" I scowl at him.

"What is—" The pale one lays a hand on my shoulder and I blink, looking up at her.

"Kiki doesn't care for the monetary worth of the rupees," she explains. "He doesn't spend them. He collects them. Green is his favourite colour. He would be much better rewarded with a simple green rupee, than if you gave him even a gold."

"Prettily please?" Kiki says.

"Farore," I mutter. "Whatever." I shove my hand back into my pouch and pull out a green rupee, exchanging it for the red one in Kiki's hand. This time I scowl at him until he scampers off to the other end of the cave where he promptly drops onto his back in a quickly dying sunbeam and admires his prize.

"This is insane," I growl. "I'm lying here on what will probably be my deathbed, arguing with a monkey and a Farore-knows-what over rupees instead of committing suicide like I probably should be after how badly I've screwed everything up. Din. This really _is_ Hell." The pale one says nothing, but her face takes on a sad, concerned expression. I rub my face with my good hand and make a frustrated noise.

"Look," I say tensely. "I'm sorry. I'm not exactly on my best behaviour here. It's not that I don't appreciate your help, I just—" The pale one lifts a long hand and I fall silent and raise an eyebrow at her.

"It's all right," she says. "And … it's not your fault. It's this place. It holds a sway over the emotions of those without shields. It encourages and feeds on the negative emotions: like despair, anger, fear, and their ilk. It will seek to pervert, corrupt, and destroy you through these emotions." She pauses, and fixes me with a serious look. "I know it's hard, but you must fight it. The more you give in to it, the harder it gets to resist."

"The Dark World is making me feel like this?"

"Yes," she answers. "It's a subtle thing, disguised as your own emotions, but you must fight it if we are to have any hope."

"Who are you?" I ask with a frown.

"I have many names," she replies softly, apparently taking no note of the bluntness of my question. "But my most common, perhaps, is Anduriel. You may use it, if you like, or give me another. It doesn't really matter, my kind have very little use for such things. And you," she adds, before I can say anything, "are Link, the Hero of Time." I blink in surprise.

"How do you know my name?" I ask. Anduriel offers me a wry smile.

"Even if you did not carry the Sword of Evil's Bane, young Hero, I would know you. Everyone who is of this place would know you. They could be as blind as I am and they would know you still." I frown, disconcerted by this information, though I can't say why.

"If you're blind," I ask, "how do you know I carry the Master Sword?" Her smile widens.

"Because it, like me, is of this place. Or of the place this was, once up on a time. It has not been so long that I have forgotten the call of a sister." I was about to ask her what makes her think I didn't just steal the sword, but this last distracts me and causes me to make a face.

"The Master Sword is a girl?" I demand. Anduriel laughs, the sound pleasant and heartening.

"Would that be so awful?" she asks with an easy smile. "But no. It is not female. And it is not male. It has no more gender than I do. I use the term sister merely to illustrate the relationship between it and I." I blink.

"You … don't have a gender?" I ask. Well that answers a lot. Anduriel shakes her (its, I suppose) head. "So … what are you, then? I've never … I mean, I've seen a lot of things, and been a lot of places, but I've never met a person like you."

"Well," says Anduriel carefully, "strictly speaking, I am not a person. The Hylians would call me an angel, I think. The Gerudo would name me Avatar. The Gorons would call me a steward, and the Zora a watchman, but it is the Sheikah, I think, who come closest, as Sheikah tend to do on things involving history and myth. They have a word in their ancient language, _Makani_ , which means Guardian. Specifically a Guardian of the Sacred Realm. I am, or was, one of the sentinels charged with defending the Sacred Realm from those who would seek to abuse it. More specifically, I was the Seventh Sentinel. In addition to protecting my corner of the Sacred Realm, my purpose was to guard the Triforce from those unworthy souls who sought it out." I raise an eyebrow.

"There was a guard on the Triforce? And Ganondorf still got through?" Anduriel's face changes, grows dark and angry.

"Ganondorf, or Ganon as he calls himself now, passed the first of the trials and the Triforce deemed him worthy of continuing," she says, her frown dangerously close to turning into a scowl. "I did not question the Triforce. I am born of it, and cannot deny its will. This is my purpose." She sounds as though she's questioning it now. I feel a sudden coldness in my gut.

If she has to obey the Triforce, and Ganon is its master …

It occurs to me that I haven't got the energy to deal with this subtly, so I just ask her flat out.

If she's going to kill me, she would have done it by now, right?

"So … what are you doing here, then?" I ask. "Shouldn't you be with Ganon and the Triforce?" She makes a derisive noise.

"Ganon is _not_ my master," she says angrily. "The Triforce is my master. And the Triforce is divided in three. Until such a time as it is united once again in a worthy individual, I serve none but the Sacred Realm. I live and die for the Sacred Realm."

"You mean the Dark World," I respond flatly.

"A two-dimensional name used to describe the way the Sacred Realm is now compared to the way it was then," Anduriel retorts. "This _is_ the Sacred Realm, whether corrupted or not, and I will serve it until I die." I raise an eyebrow.

"No offence, Anduriel," I say, eyeing her up and down, "but you don't look like you've been doing all that great here." I immediately regret my words as the righteous anger that had imbued her face vanishes and she seems to wilt.

"No," she admits, "I have not. The Triforce is split, and I can draw no strength from the Golden Power. I could not even defend my own domain. I have been … _relieved_ of it by my siblings, and replaced with an abomination."

"Your siblings?" I ask. "You mean the other Sentinels?"

"Yes," Anduriel says softly, an expression of inarticulate sorrow on her face. Her clouded eyes grow vacant, as though she is seeing something else entirely. "You know the story of Ganon and the Triforce?" I raise an eyebrow and point at my left hand, resting easily in its sling on my chest. The Triforce mark glitters up at us from the back of it.

"Like the back of my hand," I respond, reflecting for an instant that a joke as Goddess awful as that would have had Talon rolling around in stitches on the floor while I stood there and thought myself quite clever for it. It's an image that should be a positive one, backed as it is with memories of similar times, but instead it's just painful. It throws my current situation into sharp relief and highlights the fact that I'll probably never be able to tell Talon jokes again.

"Fight it, Hero," Anduriel says. "You must resist the pull." I blink and shake my head.

"Fine, I'm fine," I say, waving off her concern. "Go on."

Anduriel continues with a nod.

"As I've said, I was born of the Triforce, as were the other Sentinels. The other _Makani._ There were seven of us, total. We preformed our duties and lived quite happily. Until Ganon."

"There are times when I think everybody lived happily until Ganon," I say softly. Anduriel's expression grows cloudy and dark as she remembers.

"When Ganon touched the Triforce, and became its master for that brief instant, he changed everything. He destroyed everything. We are tied to the Triforce and the Sacred Realm. When the Triforce reordered the Sacred Realm, we were caught up in the magic. In the Re-creation. My siblings … they were changed as surely as our world was changed. They were twisted, perverted. Turned into wretched shades of their former glory. Tortured husks of what they once were." Her voice goes deadly quiet, and her cloudy eyes are narrowed. "They serve him now. He was the Triforce's last master, and is still the master of the Sacred Realm, and they are not tied so tightly as I to the Golden Power. They couldn't resist him. They didn't stand a chance. They obey him, completely and utterly."

"But … then why haven't you changed?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. "Why don't you serve Ganon?"

"I would never," Anduriel says fiercely, "I would die first. He has proven unworthy of the Triforce, and I will not forgive his corruption of my sacred charge. You know of Rauru?" I nod slowly, and suddenly a few pieces fall together..

"Your domain was the piece that Rauru preserved," I say. "Is that it? That's how you escaped corruption."

"It was a _piece_ of my domain, yes. A tiny piece, but it was enough." Anduriel says. "And I escaped the worst of the corruption. I escaped the Re-Creation. But I'm sure even your eyes, which have never seen Sentinels before, can tell that I did not escape unscathed." Her listless wings rustle sadly on her back.

"You do look a little … worse for the wear," I admit. Anduriel nods.

"I am tied inextricably to my domain, and to the Triforce. My domain is poisoned, and so I am poisoned. Rauru's preservation has allowed my body to keep living, and has given me the strength I need to keep my spirit pure of Ganon's taint. The fact that two of the Triforce pieces are with uncorrupted individuals has kept me sane. Courage and Wisdom protect me from the corruption of Power. But it is only a matter of time. The poison grows harder to resist with each passing day. I am weak, and growing weaker. I can no longer fly. For the first time since my creation I am afraid." I hesitate, but can't resist asking.

"Is that why you're blind?" Anduriel's hand moves of its own accord up to her useless eyes and a mournful sigh shakes her frame.

"No," she whispers. "This was something that was done to me when my domain was taken. This is poison of a different sort."

"Ki, ki," Kiki slides up to her side out of nowhere and peers upward. "You is asking Kiki to tell you when sun is goings down, ki." Anduriel blinks in surprise, and cranes her head around to peer out past the corner to the cave opening. She draws in her breath sharply, and when she turns back to me her face has hardened.

"Link," she says, "we haven't much time. I need you to tell me quickly how it is you came to be here." I balk at the sudden shift in tone and pace, my gut wrenching inexplicably.

"What's going on?" I demand. "What haven't we much time?"

"I'll explain in a moment. First I _need_ to know why you're here. Did you come of your own accord?"

"No," I say flatly, feeling my anger begin to stir again as I think about why I'm here. "I did not…"

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Impa!"

Impa resisted the urge to scowl. It never ended. She'd taken, what? Two steps back into the Caverns? More than half-supporting Dune on her shoulder, and with no few other Sheikah in a similar state at her back? And already somebody was shouting after her with that something-has-gone-horribly-wrong tone that she hated.

More than once she'd been accused of being a workaholic. Of taking her duties too seriously at the expense of her own personal life and health. But how could she do any less, exactly, when it felt like every time she turned her back something was going horribly wrong? There was always something that demanded her attention. Something that needed her and only her, and what was she supposed to do, say no?

It was not an easy way to live, but Impa had never really cared for easy.

If something had gone horribly wrong it had to be fixed, simple as that.

And she already knew something had gone horribly wrong, didn't she? The towers had activated and they'd been forced to call a retreat. The Gorons had managed to create a cave-in, buying them enough time to get out and get home, but she had no idea how long it would hold. She eyed Marcus as he ran up to her.

She already knew what he had to say. He was coming to tell her that Neesha had been taken. That was the only explanation for the tower's sudden activation.

She transferred Dune over to another Sheikah and turned to meet him.

"Marcus, report. What's wrong?" Marcus paused breathlessly.

"We caught a girl yesterday evening, calling out for help. She was stuck up behind the fence at the entrance to the Shadow Temple."

"How did she get up there?" Impa demanded. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Marni, she's a servant at the Golden Palace in Castletown." Impa felt a sudden sinking feeling in her gut. There was only on way to get from Castletown to the Shadow Temple and it involved a certain green-clothed boy. Impa pressed a hand to her forehead and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and her index finger.

"Farore," she swore. "The fool's gone to Castletown."

***

" _He what_!" Nabooru shrieked. It was all Amplissa could do not to wince. "Amplissa! Why did you let him do that! I _specifically_ left orders for you to—"

"With all due respect, Nabooru," Amplissa interrupted, "I obeyed your orders as well as I could, but he is _King_ , and _he_ had his _own_ set of orders. We rode with him as far as his lost door and then he left us."

"That _idiot_!" Nabooru snarled, slamming her fist down on the table. "How could he … after everything that's happened he just …" She ran out of half-sentences and settled for expressing her frustration through hitting the table again. "This is no good. We have to go after him."

"Already done," Amplissa said. "I sent two Elite on their way to Castletown. The rest of us are just waiting for the order."

"No good," Nabooru said. "They'll never make it there in time. When did he leave?"

"Yesterday morning. After you left."

"Goddess," Nabooru snarled, "it's probably _already_ too late. Amplissa, assemble the Elite. Bring them here."

"Nabooru, what—"

"Neesha's been taken," Nabooru interrupted. "There's no point denying it. The King was with her, but we don't know his fate yet. In the meantime there's an army of first-generation Moblins heading straight for us. They'll need to regroup, but we only have maybe a day, tops to get some kind of a plan together, now _move_." Amplissa's eyes grew wide and she turned without another word, bolting out the door and screaming for the rest of the Elite.

Nabooru narrowed her eyes out the window as the sun sank below the horizon and tried to ignore the feeling that everything was spiralling out of control.

She would send half of the Elite to gather at the abandoned Ranch and await further instruction there. Reason had to prevail over passion or there'd be Hell to pay. They were already courting open war with the Hylians by even getting that close and the last thing she wanted was to start another Great War.

But if they had Link …

The Hylians be damned she _not_ leave her King in the den of his enemies. The Gerudo wouldn't let her even if she wanted to. The capture of Gerudo King was nothing something you tolerated.

If they had Link … then it was they who had declared war, not the Gerudo. They would be justified if they had to attack.

But it would divide Hyrule in two again … after everything they'd done to unite it …

She shook her head and started to pace.

It wouldn't come to that. She wouldn't let it come to that.

She had to gather the Sages. Impa would be able to get a handle on the situation in Castletown quickly enough. She probably already knew. Neesha was taken, sent to the Dark World if the old man was worth his salt, and the portals had been opened. Never mind a war with the Hylians, they would be having enough trouble just keeping the Moblins from overrunning them all.

And they had to know what had happened to Link. Whether he was captured, hiding, hurt, or worse. If he was …

If he was …

"Dammit, kid," Nabooru snarled, punching the wall beside the window. "You'd better be all right."

***

Anduriel clutched Kiki tightly in her arms and urged him silently to be still. The Beast still stalked back and forth within the cave, growling and snarling. It could sense them, she knew. Could sense, but couldn't see. It would give up soon enough. A creature like that could not go long without violence. Without destruction. Unable to locate them it would leave and seek new prey.

But her power wouldn't last long, either, and using it drained her. She had to outlast the Beast. At all costs she must outlast the Beast. Link still didn't know … she hadn't had the chance to fully explain …

At last the Beast gave one last, furious snort, and turned away, running out of the little cave, claws clattering angrily on the stone floor. Anduriel waited for another moment before letting her spell drop and sagging against the wall.

"Poor Beast sir," Kiki murmured. "Ki, ki. Is you being all right?"

"I'm fine, Kiki," Anduriel responded as Kiki climbed out of her arms and up onto her shoulder, wrapping his long tail around her neck for balance. "Just a little weak. We need to follow it." Kiki's eyes went wide.

"You is wanting to follow the Beast sir!" He demanded in a high-pitched squeak. "Pale one! Beast sir is wanting to eats us! This is not being a good idea."

"We have no choice, Kiki," Anduriel said, pushing herself off the wall and moving towards the pile of weapons lying on the floor.

"Oh … ki, ki, ki," Kiki muttered with a frightened tone.

"Kiki," Anduriel said gently as she began to distribute the Hero's weapons on her back. Kiki jumped to a nearby ledge to be out of her way. "Do you remember Hyrule?" Kiki made a sad face.

"Only a bits," he said. "Ki, only a bits."

"Do you remember this place _before_ Ganon came?"

"Yes," Kiki said with a wistful sigh, "that I remembers."

"Well," Anduriel said, reverently picking up the Master Sword and adding it to her load, "then you know why we have to go after the Beast. You and I, Kiki, aren't strong enough to save the Sacred Realm. We aren't strong enough to save Hyrule. Not by ourselves. I don't even know if the Hero of Time is strong enough to save it. But we _are_ strong enough to help _him_. And that's a start." Kiki quavered and Anduriel fixed him with a sympathetic, but unbending look. "Be strong, Kiki. Prove to me the Dark World is wrong about you. Prove to me that this form is just an illusion. Show me who you were before Ganon." Kiki whimpered helplessly and allowed himself to be picked up and once again deposited on Anduriel's shoulder.

"Kiki was a coward long befores Ganon," he muttered bitterly. "We is going to be eatens."

Anduriel said nothing, but patted his head reassuringly and headed out of the cave, searching for the Beast's tracks and praying he wouldn't stray beyond her territory before the night ended.

She had told Link that the Dark World perverts.

She hadn't lied.

Somewhere beyond her sight, the Hero of Time howled his rage to the night.

And the hunt began.


	14. Beyond Panic

#  **Chapter 14 and Interludes**

_"Injustice is relatively easy to bear; it is justice that hurts."  
_ H.L. Mencken

_"He who angers you conquers you."  
_ Elizabeth Kenny

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"The King is dead," Impa said bluntly. No chink appeared in her stony expression, but there was no denying the flicker of grief in her eyes. "With Agahnim missing we were easily able to infiltrate the King's room and it was as we expected. As near as we can tell he has been dead for at least a month, though Agahnim's magic was keeping his body alive somehow, or at least giving it the appearance of life. At this point in time, the nobles are still being cautious. The ashes of the palace's east side are still being searched for any sign of bodies, and nobody wants to declare themselves King until they're quite sure that Agahnim is dead. To the best of our knowledge to date, there were no casualties from the fire, though we found the young Captain of the Palace Guard, stumbling out of the blaze and begging my Sheikah to bring him to us."

"Us?" Ruto interrupted.

"Us," Impa confirmed. "The Sages."

"He knows what happened to Link," Nabooru said eagerly.

"Let's hope he knows what happened at all," Darunia countered.

"Continue, Impa," Rauru said, gesturing.

"There has been no sign of Agahnim or Link, although we _do_ know that Link and Neesha were headed to the palace to fight Agahnim. We have under our protection the serving girl, Marni, from the Golden Palace. She was often assigned to Link during his stays at the Palace, and from time to time to Zelda as well. In addition, Agahnim assigned her to bring Zelda, in the guise of Sheik, food while she was imprisoned in the dungeons. I suspect Zelda used her to send a message to Link, but the girl didn't mean to even give me that much information and I haven't been able to convince her to give me more." Nabooru threw her fist into her palm and scowled.

"I can convince her," she said flatly.

"You promised you'd stay calm," Ruto noted.

"Settle down, Nabooru," Impa chided. "In the scheme of things I doubt the information in the message would help us find Link. In addition to delivering this message, she was there while Neesha and Link discussed their plan of action." Impa sighed. "Apparently the boy had enough sense to acknowledge that it was irresponsible of both himself and Neesha to let Neesha have any involvement in their scheme given her importance to Agahnim's plans, but acknowledgement isn't acquiescence and he did not stop her."

"She'd better be dead," Nabooru muttered under her breath, "because if I get a hold of her and she's not, she will be."

"From there they approached the Lord Durnam for help getting into the palace – or at least, that was their plan. They had counted on Durnam's loyalty, but from what information I've been able to gather, he wasn't what they'd hoped. I have a report from the gate guards that Durnam did in fact enter the palace grounds on the night Link and Agahnim disappeared, but he had only a young, sleeping red-headed woman in the carriage with him." Darunia rumbled angrily.

"He drugged her," he growled. "Coward."

"She let herself be drugged," Nabooru muttered. "Farore. All that training and she let herself be drugged."

"Link wasn't with him then," Rauru noted.

"Not that the guard was aware of at any rate. I have a list of everyone else who entered the palace grounds that night, and assuming that Link didn't find some other way of entrance, we may be able to track him down that way. My Sheikah are investigating the people on the list as we speak. When the Captain of the Palace Guards wakes up, we will question him as well." Impa paused for a moment to collect her thoughts again before continuing.

"I predict that we have less than 48 hours before Castletown erupts into a fight for regency in Agahnim's absence. Castletown is highly polarized over several issues as it is, and this will only make things worse as the nobles start calling on their followers among the commoners for support. There is an approximately twenty-five percent chance that this will lead to violence. Should Agahnim's body, or other proof that he's dead be found, the nobles will scramble for the throne itself and the odds of violence increase to seventy-five percent. Should proof of Agahnim's body, and proof of his actual corruption be revealed, it is my belief that violence will be unavoidable. Agahnim's corruption will instantly polarize the masses into those who believe it and those who do not, and they will be further divided again by which pursuer of the throne people support. The line of Hyrule has ruled for centuries without a break. This is an opportunity like no other for some of the stronger noble houses. The King is dead, and his only living heir presumed to be as well. They will not pass up this opportunity, and they will fight for it like madmen. Castletown is on the brink of a civil war.

"It could not have come at a worse time. The Moblins are upon us. I estimate that we have at a maximum 24 hours before they've amassed enough of a force through those portals to begin their attacks. I have dispatched Sheikah all over Hyrule searching for any portals that may exist within our borders, though I'm not sure what we'll do if and when we find them. In the meantime, the Moblins seem content to use the outside ones. They'd never be able to amass a force within Hyrule, and so must settle for invading from outside, but this puts several of our people at risk. Nabooru—"

"We've held off the Moblins since there were Moblins to be held off," she said with a fierce expression. "They won't breach our gates and we're the only way into Hyrule from the desert."

"Darunia?" She turned to the Goron who rumbled uneasily.

"I remember these Moblins," he said. "I remember their strength." He shook his head. "We could defend Goron City from the invaders, but not the entire mountain. I would have to verify it with Karun, but perhaps it would be best if we abandon our home and settle in at Kakariko. They'll have to go through it to get to Hyrule so the stronger a force we have there, the better off we are."

"Ruto?"

"It is not the Moblins that are a concern for my people," she said. "It is these … _things_. What we fought at Lake Hylia … corrupted Zora, maybe?" She made a face. "Though I hate to think of my people falling that far."

"I think, more likely," Rauru said, "they are an abomination like the Moblins, created for Ganondorf to combat the Zora of Hyrule."

"At any rate," Impa said, "they are a threat. The waters of Lake Hylia flow everywhere in Hyrule, even on the outskirts of the desert. We need to trap them in Lake Hylia somehow." Ruto shook her head.

"That will be up to Acqul," she said. "Sage I may be, but General I am not. If anyone can figure out how to protect the waterways it would be him."

"We should all be discussing this with our Generals," Impa agreed. "We will waste time in duplication, and time is the one thing we do not have."

"That or its Hero," Nabooru muttered. "How are we supposed to defend Hyrule, prevent a Civil War, _and_ save Link and the others?" Rauru bowed his head.

"I think," he said heavily, "we may have to trust Link and the others to save themselves."

*******

##  **Chapter 14**

"Okay," I say, covering my face with my arm – my _left_ arm, which I distinctly remember being broken two seconds ago – "okay. Okay, okay, okay."

"Link," Anduriel calls from the mouth of the hole I am inexplicably lying in. "Link, don't panic."

"I'm not panicking," I snap with a scowl. "I've gone _beyond_ panic."

"Link…" But I cut her off.

"I mean … one minute, I'm lying on a pile of leaves in a cave, busted and bruised and barely able to breathe, and the next I'm lying at the bottom of a hole, still busted and bruised, but in entirely new and exciting ways, and I have no idea how I got here, or what's going on. The last thing I remember is you saying, 'Link, the Dark World looks into the heart of those trapped here and takes—' and then _BAM_ I feel like I'm on fire and then _BAM_ I'm eating dirt! Why isn't my arm broken! I thought my arm was broken!" I glare at her, as though she's somehow responsible for the mending of my bone, and as though this is somehow a bad thing and point angrily with my other hand. "What the Hell is going on!" I narrow my eyes at her. "And why is it day! It was sunset two seconds ago!" Her face disappears for a moment and when it reappears she's sliding a thick vine over the edge of the pit and down to me. I grab it angrily and use it to pull myself to my feet, more freaked out by the fact that I can even get to my feet than happy about it. I'm not in _nearly_ as much pain as I was before, but I feel like I haven't slept in days.

"All right!" Anduriel calls. "The rope is braced. Come on up."

I brace my foot against the wall of the pit and start hauling myself up hand over hand, muttering the whole way and trying to force myself to calm down.

I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this.

This is only twice now that this has happened.

I'm sure it all makes sense and I'm just not seeing something. It's all perfectly logical.

Oh Farore, let it be logical …

Anduriel grabs my hand and helps me up the rest of the way with surprising strength. I can't help but raise an eyebrow at her.

If she's this strong when she's poisoned …

"Oh Beast sir!" Kiki cries happily. "You is being okay! And we is not being eatens!" I stare at the little monkey for a good while before turning back to Anduriel, who, I've noticed, has a tendency for better grammar, and making sense.

"I need to know what's going on," I say slowly. "I don't think I _want_ to, but I need to."

"All right," Anduriel says, pushing herself to her feet. "But not here. The Moblins are thick as thieves here lately for some reason and we can't risk capture now."

"Then let's head back to the cave," I say with a frown, "and you can chat on the way." Anduriel offers me an hesitant expression.

"Link, we are very far from the cave," she says softly. "We've, um … we've been chasing you all night." I shake my head slowly.

"But … I haven't been … I don't remember …" I cast a slow, confused look around at my surroundings. We're in some kind of weird forest. The trees are twisted torturously around themselves and up towards the sky, but they're wide apart and the canopy isn't thick at all. More than a few of them, I can't help but notice, have faces, twisted into god-awful expressions of pain or sorrow or fear or any other unpleasant expression you can think of. I stare at them with an uncomprehending expression.

"They used to be beautiful," Anduriel says, following my gaze. "These trees. They were my orchard. All year 'round they would give the most wonderful fruit. Like nothing you could find in Hyrule." It takes me a moment to register her words through my shock.

"The … faces …"

"Souls of those who used to tend to them," Anduriel explains, her face betraying no emotion. "Ingested in the Re-Creation by the very trees they cared so much for. Absorbed by them. They didn't even have a chance to run." Her face is stony as she stares flatly at the trees. "Ganon's soul has a sense of brutal irony, I think, to have done this. This and other things. Some worse, some lesser." She turns. "But there is nothing we can do for them while Ganon yet remains as the Master of this place. Come, we have much to discuss."

I tear my eyes away from the trees and turn to follow her. Kiki makes as though to climb up me and perch on my shoulder but I glower at him until he changes his mind and chooses Anduriel's shoulder instead.

"I tried last night, Link—"

"Last _night_!"

"Yes, Link. Last night. I tried to warn you about … about the Dark World and what it does to those trapped within it, but unfortunately your story was longer than I expected, and I wasn't quick enough to finish."

"So finish now," I say darkly, liking this less and less. "I believe you made it to, the Dark World looks into the heart of those trapped here and takes…"

"Takes all of the worst aspects of your personality and character that it can find." She pauses to gather her thoughts. "It dredges through your soul searching for any hint of darkness, any sign of negativity, and fears and deficiencies and weaknesses, and then it uses them to change you." She sighs. "Once upon a time the Sacred Realm would do the same thing, only it would look for the positives. It would find everything bright and shining in you and put it on display for the world to see." She shakes her head.

"What do you mean, change?" I ask.

"I mean what I mean," she responds. "You change. Physically, mentally, spiritually. You become your worst feature." I frown.

"Am I immune, then?" I ask. "As Hero of Time or something?"

"Unfortunately, no," Anduriel answers. "Would that things were that easy."

"But I haven't changed. Not physically at any rate. Why—" Kiki gives a sudden laugh.

"Not change?" He says, peering at me. "Not change says Beast sir!" He laughs again until Anduriel shushes him.

"I'm afraid, Link, that you have." She says softly. My gut wrenches again.

"Does this have anything to do with why he calls me Beast sir?" I demand, nodding my head at Kiki.

"Yes," Anduriel says. "Link, what do you consider your worst feature? Your biggest weakness?" I narrow my eyes impatiently at her.

"You already know the answer, don't you?" I demand.

"Yes," she replies. "But it's important that you come to the conclusion on your own."

"Fine," I say and think for a minute, trying to remember all the things about me that people complain about. "I'm … stubborn. More than stubborn, I'm downright bull-headed, and not always for the better. I can be single-minded. I'm … reckless, and I don't always think things through before I act on them. I'm _way_ to sarcastic for my own good." Anduriel's face doesn't change. Whatever answer she's looking for she hasn't got it yet. I raise an eyebrow at her. "Is it the temper? It's the temper, isn't it?"

"Close," Anduriel says. "Very close. Take that thought deeper."

"I … lose my temper really easily," I say. "At the drop of a hat sometimes. But I get happy again just as quick," I add, feeling the sudden need to defend myself against what seems to be a damning list of flaws.

"And that's just it," Anduriel says. "It's not just your temper, it's your temperament. You're like quicksilver, Link. Happy one minute, furious the next. You move from over-confident, to fatalistic, to enthusiastic, to naïve, to cynical, and so on and so forth without so much as a moment's notice. You can't make up your mind about how you're going to feel, how you're going to behave. The Dark World has decided that your physical form will reflect this. Your emotional state changes 'at the drop of a hat,' so your physical form will change with the rise of the moon."

"What, like a werewolf!" I demand, annoyed suddenly. "Everybody knows those are just children's stories. Once upon a time someone who didn't know any better saw a wolfos and jumped to some really wrong conclusions, that's all." Anduriel stops in her tracks and turns to face me fully. I blink, taken aback by the expression on her face.

"Link, you need to understand something," she says, her face as hard as steel, cloudy eyes narrowed, "you're not in Hyrule anymore. You're in the Dark World. And there are no such thing as children's stories here." She turns again and continues walking.

"You should count yourself lucky," she says. "To have your original form for even as short a time as you are granted it. There are others – _many_ others – who are not so lucky."

"Ki, ki," Kiki agrees with a sorrowful tone.

"Are you telling me he was a person at some point in his life?" I jerk my thumb at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Kiki was so!" The little monkey responds, giving me a baleful glare. "I was being a person like you." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"So if I'm a werewolf—"

"Lycanthrope," Anduriel corrects me. "There's no guarantee you're limited to wolf."

"—because I'm emotionally unstable, then why are you a monkey?" My eyebrow goes higher. "Let alone a blue one."

"Firsting," Kiki says with a snooty tone, "Kiki is being purples. Not blues."

"Sorry," I say with exaggerated apology. Kiki doesn't appear to notice.

"And I is being a monkey because when I was being a man, I was a copier."

"A what?"

"A copier," Kiki repeats. "Ki, I copied."

"Copied what?" I ask.

"Everything," Kiki responds with a sigh. "Alls of it. I was copying clothings that people was being wearing, I was copying words that people was being writing, I was copying songs that people was being singing…"

"Kiki," Anduriel says, patting the monkey's head soothingly, "never bothered to decide who he was. He was too busy trying to be like everybody else. _Exactly_ like everybody else. At his worst he was also an out-and-out plagiariser."

"Monkey see, monkey do," I murmur.

"Monkey always copies you," finishes Kiki. "Yes," a sigh, "that is why I is being a monkey."

"But why blue? Purple! Purple," I correct myself when the monkey glares at me. Another huge sigh.

"Because Kiki is never liking purple," he moans. "Kiki is liking greens. I is being hateful of purples." I frown.

"Seems kind of petty for something as powerful as the Dark World to waste its time doing that to you."

"Never underestimate pettiness, Link," Anduriel comments. "Some of the worst, most painful cruelties are the small ones." I shake my head, still floored by the entire conversation.

"All right," I say, "let's recap. The Dark World changes the people who come here into a physical manifestation of their worst qualities. I have violent mood swings, and so at night I turn into some kind of monster. Is that about right?"

"A very dangerous monster," Anduriel confirms. "If your story of how you came to be here is true, then the Beast had to tear its way through an army of Moblins stationed at the Palace and God knows what else to make it as far as Kiki's cave before collapsing."

"Is that why I was so beat up?"

"I can only assume," Anduriel says by way of answer.

"Then why aren't I still beat up?"

"Because last night the Beast did not fight an army of Moblins," Anduriel answers. "Link, the Beast – this incarnation of it at any rate – is a thing of anger and fury. Look at it on a metaphorical level. Anger eats away at a person. Fury hurts. These emotions take their toll on a body eventually. Therefore the Beast's injuries are your own. The Beast hurts itself to hurt you. But anger is not held by your own physical limitations. Anger does not require physical health or strength. The Beast is unaffected by your own wounds. You cannot hurt it." I feel cold all of a sudden.

"When I was … did I … has it killed anyone?" I ask.

"I do not know," Anduriel answers carefully. "Not while within my sight, though there is little guarantee of what was done at other times. However, Link, though it pains me to say it, there is little left in this forsaken world that would not deserve death for its crimes." I shake my head.

"I'm sorry," I say. "This is all kind of … hard to believe."

"Does it not make sense?" Anduriel asked. "Does this explanation not answer all of your questions?"

"Answering my questions and making sense are two different things," I point out. "I mean I just … this is …" I trail off, unable to find a voice for my problems.

The problem being that this is impossible.

Not the werewolf thing, not the dark world thing, not even the I-am-having-a-conversation-with-a-blind-creature-with-wings-and-a-purple-monkey thing.

It's the _whole_ thing. It's the situation. It's the fact that I'm here and I'm not supposed to be here! I should be back at Hyrule! It's the fact that _all_ of my closest friends, and quite a few of my not-so-closest-but-still-very-very-close friends are imprisoned here, probably in worse straits than I am and me with no possible way to rescue them. No possible way to get home. An army of Moblins is invading Hyrule, and here I am, strolling casually through Hell's orchard and discussing my own personal character flaws.

And if it's true … if I really am a monster at night …

"I will prove it to you," Anduriel says. "Kiki and I brought your arsenal with us and have left it in as safe a place as we could find. You have Sahasrahla's mirror?" I blink at her in surprise.

"How do you know that?" I demand. She smiles at me.

"Blind I may be, Link, but that doesn't mean I can't see. Have you not noticed that I've been in the lead this whole time? Not wondered how I tracked you without my eyes?" She gestures around herself. "So long as we are in my domain, I have no need of my eyes." I nod, realizing that she _has_ been in the lead this whole time.

"How do you know it's Sahasrahla's?" I ask. Her smile grows sad and wistful.

"Because I gave it to him," she says. "Has he told you of his son?" I frown.

"I know he was the first Hero," I say. "And that he died."

"He was, and he did," Anduriel confirms with a sad sigh. "He died here, in the Sacred Realm as a matter of fact. He died protecting the Triforce. He died protecting me. I would have stopped him if I could have, but …" Her cloudy eyes grow distant as she loses herself in what is obviously a painful memory. "Sahasrahla … I pitied him. He lost so much in that war. His whole family. All he had left was his brother, and then he drove away even that. Turned into a recluse. I felt … I felt like I owed him something. I couldn't give him his son back – that is beyond my power. The best I could do was give him a reminder that his son had not died for nothing. And a reminder of the good that still existed within himself. So I gave him the mirror." I raise an eyebrow at her.

"The one that shows you how horrible you are?" I ask. "That mirror? What a wonderful gift."

"Hmm," Anduriel notes, "you _are_ sarcastic, aren't you?"

"So I've been told," I respond.

"Yes, Link, I gave him the mirror that shows you how horrible you are. But it didn't always do that. The mirror is actually a means of glimpsing into the Sacred Realm. Before Ganondorf warped it, the Mirror showed you the side of yourself that the Sacred Realm would take and display. The bright and shining part of you. More than that, it originally had a Moon Pearl set into it. The Pearl allowed a person with the mirror to travel back and forth easily between the Sacred Realm and the physical realm. But now, the pearl is gone, and the Sacred Realm is the Dark World. It still shows you the side of you which this place takes and displays, it is merely the side displayed that has changed."

"So … you're telling me that if I look into the mirror, I'll see this Beast of yours."

"Yes," Anduriel says. "If you think you are strong enough." She pauses in front of a large tree and presses a knot in the trunk. The bark and wood slide in and to the side, leaving a space in the shape of a door, revealing a small, circular room. My stuff is piled at the back. Anduriel gestures me in, and then follows close on my heels, sliding the door shut after her. As soon as the door clicks shut, the darkness envelops us, then immediately vanishes as runes carved high up on the walls begin to light up, casting a soft, blue glow over everything.

I spare a glance for the runes, then move over to my things and take my time about finding the mirror, feeling the same apprehension as I did when Sahasrahla first offered it to me. I sling my weapons on over my back and tie my pouch to my belt with greater attention than is strictly necessary before reaching in to my pouch and fishing around for the mirror. My fingers brush against it's cool handle, and I can feel the delicate carvings on it as I wrap my hand around it. I pull it out and stare nervously down at the back of it, suddenly, acutely aware of just how creepy the Sheikan symbol is. Anduriel and Kiki watch me expectantly.

I steel my resolve and flip the mirror over, raising it to look into it.

What I see does not make me feel good, or happy. It does not make me feel any better about my situation. What I see makes me clench the mirror harder in order to keep myself from throwing it back and away from me again.

Beast is an appropriate word.

It's not exactly a wolf, though it is definitely wolfish. Vaguely humanoid in shape, in that it's got two arms and two legs, but beyond that … dark fur ripples and bristles all over its body. It's huge – at least as big as the biggest Gorons, and bigger I think – and every line of its body screams of fury and power. It's teeth are permanently bared, even now as it mirrors my shocked, disgusted, horrified expression, the prominent canines look sharp and frightening. Its eyes are solid slits of red, like Dark Link's used to be, and its hands end in wicked looking claws. There's blood on its muzzle and its claws and it looks as though it would like nothing better than to claw its way through the mirror and sink them both into me as well. It occurs to me that tonight it _will_ escape the mirror and will start sinking its teeth and claws into anything it can find and I feel a sudden stab of fear.

The image in the mirror shifts, beginning to blur and change, but I can't look any longer. I've hit my daily horror quota and I feel kind of sick. I shove it hastily back into my pouch and close my eyes, trying to shake the image of the thing in the mirror.

The thing in me.

I raise my hand to my temple and squeeze. "Nayru, Farore and Din," I swear quietly. That thing is me. That thing is inside me. It's part of me. That … that _beast_ is a part of who I am. How is that even possible? What kind of monster _am_ I?

A soft, cool hand suddenly wraps itself around mine and pulls it away from my face. Anduriel crouches in front of me, her face an expression of gentle sympathy. Her cloudy, golden eyes have that same, urgent quality they've had since I met her.

I spontaneously decide that I like her eyes, cloudy or not.

"Link," she says gently, "what you saw in the mirror, that is not _who_ you are. It is of the gravest importance that you understand this."

"But you said—"

"I said that the Dark World perverts. That it finds your weaknesses and fears and your own darkness and puts it on display. But it blows it out of proportion. It exaggerates it. It shows you your dark side, undiluted by your good."

"But that thing—"

"Has never been able to control you," Anduriel interrupts again. "It's a part of you, yes, but it is not you. Link, everyone has a darkness inside them, just as they have a light. And just as with physical light and dark, they are neither good nor bad. Your anger is not always a negative thing. Righteous anger, when carefully controlled and focused can be a force for the positive. It is merely this _place_ , Link, that makes it so negative. That is its goal. To pervert. To destroy. It _wants_ you to think that that is all there is to you. It _wants_ you to think that you are an awful, ugly thing. It _wants_ you to despair, because it _needs_ you to despair. It feeds off of it. This is its defence. This is what keeps it safe. If it can drive you into hopelessness, and fear, and anger, and despair it can keep you from focussing on your mission. It can keep you from restoring the Sacred Realm to the place it once was. This is how it will defeat you." She takes my face in both her hands and stares straight into my eyes. "You mustn't let it defeat you, Link. Please. Do not let it defeat you. Don't give up!" I feel a sudden surge of anger at her words.

"Give up?" I cry, trying to wrench my face away from her hand and look away. "Give up on what! There's nothing left. Agahnim's won. He's taken the Maidens, he's broken the seals, he's—"

"No, Link! No he has not!" Anduriel cuts me off, holding my face in a grip suddenly vice-like. "He has _not_ won. Yes, he has taken the Maidens. But they are alive, and they can be taken _back_." I blink in surprise.

"W-what!" I demand, wondering briefly if I heard her wrong.

"It will be dangerous," Anduriel continues. "Very dangerous, but—" I grab her wrists and stare at her, feeling for the first time since I've come here the desperately weak, but still undeniably there flickering of hope.

"I don't care," I say quickly. "I don't care if it's dangerous. They can be rescued? You mean it?"

"Yes, Link. I would not lie." I fall back against the wall, swimming in a sea of possibilities, brain working frantically.

"But if I can rescue them … without them, Agahnim's spell falls apart …"

"And the Seal will be bent back into place," Anduriel continues. "The Moblins will no longer be able to get into Hyrule. Each Maiden you rescue will weaken Agahnim's spell, bending the seals further and further back into shape, closing the portals kept open by the Maiden's presence." I pause.

"But then … how can I get the Maidens back to Hyrule?"

"Once upon a time you may have used the mirror," Anduriel said, "but you will simply have to search for what portals are still open. I would show you where the portals in my domain are, but by the time you need them we will have rescued the first of the Maidens and they shall be closed." I pause.

"You … know where the first Maiden is?" I ask. Anduriel smiles and gestures with a hand. The runes on the wall begin to spin and change, rearranging themselves into different patterns. It takes them a moment to slow down and lie still again. She gets to her feet and moves over to where the door was, pressing on the wall again and the door slides open to reveal a much different location than the orchard where we were when the door shut. I gape.

"What the Hell …?"

"They may have stolen the guardianship of my domain," Anduriel says with a touch of smugness in her voice, "but it is my domain still and its secret ways cannot be barred to me." I step out of the tree and blink as I peer around.

This place is a wasteland. Cracked, broken ground spreads as far as I can see from here, broken only by the ruins of some long forgotten temple and its outlying buildings (also in ruins). A field of brambles has somehow managed to eek some kind of life out of the dead ground and lies between us and the ruins.

"What you see is what is left of my dwelling after the Re-Creation. Within those ruins you will find both a Maiden and the monster that guards her."

"The one they replaced you with?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers, then pauses. "Have you ever seen a Maeasm?"

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Thomas paced agitatedly back and forth outside the council room's door, wishing fervently that he was inside watching and listening and praying for the twins. It was his fault they were even in there, after all; because they'd tried to protect him.

"You're really worried," noted the young girl seated on a bench opposite the room. Thomas glanced over at her. "What's going on in there?"

"My friends are … they're being tried for treason essentially," Thomas said, not wanting to go through the hassle of explaining Sheikan justice to a Hylian. It wasn't that he didn't like Marni, it was just that it was a private thing, and besides, it always sounded unnecessarily harsh to anyone who _wasn't_ a Sheikah. "For helping me kidnap Zelda the first time."

"But you were mind-controlled," Marni pointed out, then added with an air of authority: "Agahnim can do that, you know. He did it to Liam." Thomas offered her a brief smile, devoid of any humour.

"I'm fully aware, Marni," he said. "But my friend's weren't mind-controlled. They were just … they were just worried about me. They were trying to protect me."

_From my own stupidity_ , he couldn't help but add silently.

"Well there you go!" Marni said. "That should get them off the hook, shouldn't it? If they were trying to protect someone they haven't done anything wrong." Thomas shook his head and frowned.

"It's not that simple," he said, frustrated with the effort already. "It's never that simple, Marni. If it had been anyone else, maybe, but it wasn't, it was Zelda. You can't just … as a Sheikah you have to…" He made a frustrated noise and resumed his pacing. He didn't want to explain it. Marni wouldn't understand. He was having a hard enough time accepting it as it was, and he was a Sheikah. He'd been born and raised with the principles and rules and ideals that governed his people, as had Bel and Mel, and no matter how much he might love Bel and Mel he knew and understood why they were on trial right now.

It was just … they were _Bel and Mel_. Somehow it didn't seem fair that the rules had to apply to them. Or to this case in particular.

_If I hadn't been so gullible … so damn…_ power hungry _…_

Marni looked for a moment as though she was going to say something else, but retreated back into her own thoughts instead. He remembered her being a lot more chatty than she had been since he'd gotten back to the Caverns, but, he supposed, this place was as alien to her as any and she didn't know anyone here. She generally followed him around when she couldn't stand to be in her rooms anymore, but even that was only because she knew his face from the time he'd spent at the palace. And besides that, not many Sheikah were all too happy about having an outsider in their ancient home. Unfortunately for them (and for her, he supposed) the girl needed protection and until they could send her somewhere else she was stuck there. At least they'd finally started making efforts to find her brother. She'd be happier once she was sure he was all right. Thomas knew that for a fact because once upon a time he'd had an older sister who had worried over him in the same way.

_I wish Ket was here right now…_

He briefly wondered why Marni hadn't just been shipped out on the caravan to Summerfell – he had thought that one had been scheduled to leave that morning – as there were at least other Hylians out there, and less secrets to keep. He attempted to focus on that little puzzle for as long as he could in a futile effort at distraction, but other, more pressing matters reclaimed his attention before long.

Bel and Mel's trial.

He knew what would happen. They would be found guilty of treason. There was no way around it. What they had done was wrong. It defied the Sheikan Code on too many levels to count. Their intentions didn't matter. That was part of what he'd never be able to make Marni understand. The Hylians were too caught up in ideals and principles and heroes and villains to understand. Inspire the right emotions in your jury in Castletown and you could get away with just about anything – even treason. Nayru knew there was more than one ruler in the history of Hyrule who had technically been a rebel and a usurper, but with the hearts of the people behind them no crime was too great for forgiveness.

But for the Sheikah emotion had nothing to do with it.

A treason committed with the best of intentions was a treason still.

A Sheikah – an _active_ Sheikah – was supposed to live and die for Hyrule. This meant that, as an extension of Hyrule, the Royal Family was under Sheikan protection as well (except for those rare occurrences where the Royal Family was actually worse for Hyrule than anything else. In this cases the Sheikah did whatever was necessary to right things again, which was another murky part of the Sheikan Code that was hard to explain to outsiders). Zelda was the heir to the throne of Hyrule. Zelda, perhaps even _more_ importantly to Hyrule, was the Seventh Sage. Zelda was to be protected at all costs. Everyone knew that. Everyone understood that. What sacrifices had to be made would be made, even if they included other innocent lives. Even if they included other Sheikah.

Even if they included him.

And when Bel and Mel had chosen him over Zelda they had turned their backs on everything the Sheikah were. They had blacklisted themselves as Rogues. They had committed treason in the highest order.

And the penalty for that, in most circumstances, was death.

He felt his face go a bit paler as he considered that. Impa had assured him that they wouldn't receive the maximum penalty. The compromising situation they had been placed in, combined with the fact that they had willingly surrendered themselves and have been more than willing since to help in any way they could against Agahnim would be enough to spare them death.

But the alternatives weren't much better when you got right down to it.

He wished again, desperately, that he was in there with them. That they didn't have to face this alone.

_Oh please,_ he thought to himself. _Please … Nayru, Farore and Din, if you can hear me_ please _. I haven't got that many friends left … please don't take them away too…._

And at last the door opened. Marni straightened and Thomas whirled around to stare as the council filed out one by one, looking grim and unhappy. He blinked in surprise when he realized his mum and Impa weren't part of the line. They were both on the council, why weren't they there?

He shook his head and waited anxiously for the line to continue past him so he could slip in through the door.

Bel and Mel were at the far end of the room with their father. Mel was folded up into his arms, shaking with what were probably tears but she wasn't making any noise. Bel was pacing back and forth furiously, opening and closing her fists and glaring with stony determination at nothing.

"It doesn't matter," she was saying, "who cares? This place was boring anyway. Been looking for an excuse to leave for a while now. Always wanted to … to travel." She looked up and met Thomas' eyes, and beneath the grey-eyed gaze she could feel her resolve crumbling. "Sorry, Thomas," she said, her voice cracking, "looks like you'll have to keep yourself entertained without us for a while." Thomas was ready for her when she burst into tears, pulling her into a tight hug and wanting to crawl away and die because whatever it was it was ultimately his fault.

_If I hadn't been so stupid…_

He looked over Bel's head at her father, who met his gaze sadly and hugged Mel tighter.

"Exile," he said, and suddenly it was hard for Thomas not to cry himself.

*******

##  **Chapter 14 (cont.)**

"What!" I practically shriek. Kiki scrambles away from me, startled. "You little rat! Forget it!" He glares at me from between Anduriel's legs.

"Ki, ki!" He says reproachfully. "You wants the doors open! I wants monies! Fair trades!"

"A hundred rupees is _not_ a fair trade for hitting a couple of switches!" I snarl. "That's _robbery_!"

"Kiki is not being a thief!" Kiki squeaks indignantly. He turns his back on me and sits down petulantly. "I is being insulted. I is wanting _two_ hundred monies now!"

"Why you little—" Anduriel holds up a hand before I can lunge down at the little monkey and do something nasty to it.

"Link, control," she says warningly. My mind flashes back to the _thing_ I saw in the mirror and my rage bleeds from me as easy as that. I stumble back a step away from Kiki and suck in my breath, trying to get myself back under control. Kiki eyes me until I regain some semblance of normalcy again before glaring at me.

"Be apologizing," he says. My irritation spikes suddenly and I quash it before it can turn into rage.

Oh this is going to be fun.

"Kiki," I say through clenched teeth, "stop. Talking. To me." Anduriel hastily scoops the little monkey up before he can retort.

"Kiki," she says gently, "think about this for a minute. Are you really being fair?"

"Kiki is being fair," he responds stubbornly. "Kiki wants 100 green monies. Beast sir is wanting doors opened. Is being a fair trade." Anduriel sighs and looks at me.

"Link, do you really need the money here?" She asks. "There are no stores or shops or even any goods for you to buy. And besides, from what I understand of your position in Hyrule, money is not, precisely, an issue for you."

"It's the _principle_ of the matter," I huff. "You don't spend a hundred rupees on a shirt that's only worth five, no matter _how_ much money you have." I glower at the monkey. "And besides, I haven't _got_ a hundred greens on me. Who carries that many? They're only worth one anyway." Kiki clambers up from Anduriel's arms onto her shoulder and peers at me.

"How many is you having?" He asks, face twitching as though trying to _smell_ how much money I have.

"I can give you ten," I say. "I'll give you ten green rupees if you open the door for me." Kiki's nose twitches.

"Ten nows," he says, "and a hundred laters?" I throw my hands up into the air and bite back the urge to strangle him.

"You can't even do math!" I cry. "Why am I talking to you about money!" I grind my teeth at Anduriel's expression and force myself to calm down. "All right, look," I say flatly, "I will give you ten green rupees now. That's all I have. If I ever actually manage to get back to Hyrule I'll bring you ninety green rupees back, okay? But you that's it! For that price you'll do what I say without charging me anything from now on, got it?"

"But I wants a hundred," Kiki whines.

"Ninety plus ten _is_ a hundred," I growl. "Just not all at once." Kiki throws his hands into the air in a perfect imitation of my own gesture two seconds ago.

"Fines!" He half-sighs-half-growls and drapes himself over Anduriel's shoulder in a matter both dramatic and sulky. "But I is being thinking _Kiki_ is not the robbers," he grumbles to himself. I stare incredulously at him for a moment, then force myself to turn away before I give in to the homicidal urges spiking in my brain.

"Can we continue?" Anduriel asks mildly.

"Lead the way," I say, pausing to stick my tongue out at Kiki (who does the exact same thing at the exact same time) once her back is turned. I fall into step behind her.

"You two will have to keep your arguments down from now on," Anduriel says quietly. "I've done the best I can to keep the Moblin scourge from my domain, but there is only so much I could do. We are approaching the stronghold now, and my power is limited there indeed."

"How close?" I ask.

"Once we're out of the bramble maze," she responds. "A few minutes at the most."

Silence descends on our small, awkward party as we walk, until at last Anduriel holds up her hand and signals me to stop. Kiki shifts nervously on her shoulder and she gestures me closer.

"You can see the stronghold through here," she says, gesturing at the much thinner brambles.

"So," I whisper, peering through the branches and thorns at the intimidating structure before us. "What's the plan?"

The building is similar in design to the one on which I first arrived here in the Dark World, but much more grand. Where the first building had little in the way of adornment, this building is decked out with statues and gargoyles and elaborate pieces of architecture that appear to serve no purpose save to look fancy. The doors are exactly like what Anduriel described to me earlier: thick stone slabs covered in runes that look as though they are likely magical. No mortal force, according to the _Makani_ at my side, can open them without either permission, or knowing where they "key" is. There are apparently two switches on the roof which can be activated to override the magic holding the door shut – a failsafe Anduriel created in the first few days of the Dark World for just such an occasion.

Of a larger concern, however, is the group of Moblins milling around in front of the door. A quick headcount shows nine of them.

"The object you seek will be held by the Maeasm somewhere within that structure. I doubt the creature has any guards of an animate nature about it. It is a jealous and violent beast and not likely to share its territory willingly." Her use of the word beast brings a small, but rather important question to mind.

"Is it like Kiki and me?" I ask. "Is it a person?" She turns and regards me neutrally.

"Does it matter?" She asks and I frown darkly at her.

"Yes," I say flatly, and her expression melts into a pleased one.

"Good," she says. "And no. It is merely a beast. A monster created by my brethren to guard what I would free."

"What kind of abilities or powers does it have?" Anduriel arches an eyebrow.

"It's a giant Maeasm, Link. What more does it need?" She pauses. "There is one thing, though. It wears a mask."

"A mask?" I ask. "What kind?"

You know…there was a time when I might have thought nothing about a monster wearing a mask, but after Termina…

"To protect its face," Anduriel explains. "The monster is a thing created of black magic, and the purity of the maiden works as a counter-spell. In order to protect the maiden from attempts such as ours, the monster needs to keep her close to it, but this means that her presence is constantly unravelling the magic that holds the monster in existence, and it needs to continuously remake itself. For some reason this unravelling is centered on the head and as such its armour cannot protect its face. It wears the mask to protect this vulnerability."

"So if we can get its mask off…" I turn my gaze back to the building and frown. "You said there were no animate defences. Why the distinction?"

"Because the stronghold defends itself," she responds. "Those statues, for example, are not statues. They are armoses."

"Which ones?"

"All of them."

"Oh."

"There are other traps as well," she says, "though I can guide us around most of those."

"Most?"

"Some simply _must_ be overcome. Such is their nature. Others may be new. Recently added." Her expression is far away. "I have not been in there since…" Her voice fades off, but no explanation is necessary.

"All right," I say, "good enough. How do we get past the Moblins?"

"Unfortunately, there is no 'getting past.' We will have to go through." I smile before I can stop myself.

"Fine by me," I say, reaching back for the Master Sword and drawing it as silently as I can. "Kiki, can you handle those switches while I handle the Moblins?"

"I will help," Anduriel says quietly. I blink up at her in surprise.

"Are you sure?" I ask. "You said that once we're out of the maze you'll be limited."

"Even the most primitive humanoids can hit things, Link," Anduriel says. "Do not be so quick to assume that my definition of limited is the same as yours. Weakened I may be, but I am still an immortal. Or was at any rate."

"Kiki is not being paids yet," Kiki points out dully, oblivious to the discussion. "You is promising Kiki ten monies for Kiki to be opening the doors." I scowl at the interruption and reach into my pouch.

"Where are you going to put it!" I demand. "We're not near your little hidey-hole."

"Kiki is having lots of hidey-holes," Kiki returns snobbishly. "Just because I is not sharing with yous doesn't mean I isn't having them."

"Whatever," I grumble, dropping ten green rupees onto the ground and glaring at him as he scrambles off of Anduriel's shoulder for the money. "You've got thirty seconds or I'm feeding you to the Moblins when you get back." Kiki squeaks indignantly, but hurriedly scoops up the money and rushes back into the maze. "Creepy little monkey." I snort. I turn back to Anduriel, trying to ignore the odd look she's giving me.

"Do you need a weapon?" I ask. "I have extras. You're strong enough, I think, for the Megaton Hammer if you'd like to use it." Anduriel offers me a wry smile.

"A powerful artefact if ever there was one," she says, "but what I have is better. Do not worry for me, young Hero. Just mind you do not get lost in the blood lust." Her face grows concerned. "You know what the Dark World—" I wave her off.

"Yeah, yeah," I say. "I know. I'll keep it under control." She frowns and I'm struck by the impression that she's suddenly debating the wisdom of this. Before she can press that thought any further, though, Kiki comes bounding back out of the maze and stops at Anduriel's feet.

"I is back!" He announces, panting. "I hurries!"

"Thank you, Kiki," Anduriel says, smiling at him. "Now prepare yourself. Wait until Link and I have busied the Moblins and then open the doors for us." She gives him an encouraging pat on the head when he quavers then turns to me. "Ready?"

"Born ready," I answer. "Let's get this over with." I feel a sudden stab of impatience. One of the maidens is in there – one of the girls. I seem to recall Anduriel saying something about a "she" – and I want to get to them. I don't want to leave them trapped in there any longer than I already have.

Anduriel creeps towards the exit to the maze and I fall into step behind her, sword and shield at the ready.

"I'll go right and you go left," she says and a sudden rush of homesickness takes my breath away for a moment. "One," she counts. Dammit I miss Dad. "Two…" I shake my head and steel myself.

"Three," we both say at the same time and wasting no more time on secrecy burst from the maze and make a beeline for the group of Moblins, splitting up just before we run into them and heading in opposite directions.

Now…this is the first time I've fought these particular Moblins – the first generation ones. And to their credit (and my dismay) they're every bit as good as the Sages and Generals have made them out to be. An attack like this would have _decimated_ the other Moblins. They'd have been so confused by the suddenness of it they wouldn't have had time to get their stuff together again before we'd cut a swathe into the middle of them. That was the nice thing about the other Moblins. They never failed to have the numbers on their side, but they were dumb as bricks, and when you get right down to it, a hundred bricks is still just a hundred bricks. They don't get any smarter for there being so many of them.

But these Moblins…they don't seem to be that stupid.

Neither Anduriel nor I shouted a battle cry, but all it took was one of them seeing us and reacting. He shouted an alarm and the Moblins responded as a unit – if you can believe it – tightening up and turning to face us. These aren't canon fodder Moblins. These are soldiers. My eyes narrow.

But I'm Gerudo.

I raise my sword as I slam into the closest Moblin. Immediately a second closes in behind me. Apparently they aren't about the fair fight anymore than the Moblins I'm used to.

The second Moblin thrusts at me and I try and change direction mid-step. It doesn't quite work out for me as well as I'd hoped. The blade slides across my shoulder, slicing through tunic and skin, and as the sudden sting registers in my brain, something unbidden and angry tries to snarl its way to the surface inside me. I crush it ruthlessly in a sudden, surprised panic, frightened by the ferocity of it, and almost get my head cut off in the process as the first Moblin slashes at me. I suck in my breath and counter the sudden blow, forcing myself to keep my focus and not dwell on that sudden surge of rage.

I twist like a cat to catch the second Moblin’s blade on my shield. It hits me hard enough that my whole arm goes numb and I stumble backward with a surprised cry. I catch myself just before I can fall onto the first Moblin’s blade and raise my sword to block a slash from it. I back-peddle quickly, trying to shake the feeling back into my shield arm and hold back the snarling thing inside me, which seems determined to rise to the forefront. The Moblins don't let me get far before coming after me. The first lunges at me and there's nothing to do but meet him head on, which, to my horror, I am delighted with.

I charge the closest Moblin and it tries to run me through. I twist to the side without stopping my advance and let the Master Sword flare blue, sacrificing my front for the sake of my attack.

The Moblin’s blade only grazes my gut, it doesn't cut deep … but the sight of my own blood brings the snarling thing tearing its way up again with an unexpected burst of strength.

_No!_ I scream at it as I raise my sword and thrust desperately. Can't stop fighting just because there is something angry inside me trying to take control. _Back! GET BACK!_ For a half second it's presence dulls, obeying my shouted command and starting to recede, but the next instant my blade, aided by the blue fire, cuts through the chainmail like a knife through butter and I've buried it inside the Moblin, right up to the hilt. Blood washes out and over my hand.

Everything seems to hover in perfect stillness for a moment. The scent of blood, sharper than I've ever smelled it, fills the air around me and floods all my senses.

The Master Sword's fire goes out and the snarling thing inside me explodes forward.

This time, there's no stopping it.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Impa shut the door quietly behind her and turned her serious gaze on Nabooru who was pacing back and forth furiously.

She didn't have time for this. She really didn't.

She still had to consolidate the reports from all those they'd detained, find out if anyone had tracked down Durnam yet, make a desperate (yet ultimately futile, she knew) attempt at frightening the nobles into _not_ inciting a war, meet with Dune for an update on their defence plans, check on Darunia and the Gorons progress, somehow find time to find out how Bel and Mel's trial went, and a million other things she didn't have time for either.

She didn't have time to placate Nabooru.

But she couldn't afford letting the Gerudo react as she knew they would, either.

"You look like you would like to shout," the Sage of Shadow observed, "and since Captain Liam needs his rest, I would suggest we take this somewhere further away from him." She raised an eyebrow. "And further away from Castletown before someone sees you. Agahnim may be gone but his proclamations have not been lifted yet. The last thing we need right now is a Sage getting arrested."

"Like they could hold me," Nabooru sniffed derisively. "Wouldn't be the first time I've broken out of your dungeons." She crossed her arms and blew a stray hair out of her eyes. "But fine. Let's head to the Lost Woods." For a moment light infused the room, and when they opened their eyes the solid grey walls of Castletown had been replaced with the soft green of the Lost Woods. Nabooru immediately began stripping off her coat and scarf with, Impa couldn't help but notice, more force than was entirely necessary.

"This is great," the Sage of Spirit snarled now that the need for quiet was past. "This is just _peachy_. They've both gone off and gotten themselves sent to the Goddess-damned Dark World with the rest. Just _wonderful_. How the _Hell_ am I supposed to break this to my girls! We have a war on our hands and our King is missing in action. Goddess _dammit_!" She threw her hands up into the air. "That's it!" She cried angrily. "There's no other options! We're going to have to declare war on the Hylians!" Impa winced inwardly, though this was not unexpected. It was a large part of the reason she had asked the other Sages to let her deal with Nabooru alone. The Sage of Spirit was already on edge and in a difficult position. It wouldn't do to corner her now.

There was nothing more dangerous than a cornered Gerudo.

"Nabooru, don't be rash," she said calmly.

"Oh I'm not being rash," Nabooru returned, glaring at her, "I'm being realistic. You want rash? Wait until I tell the Elite what's been done to Link. Then you'll see rash. They'll want to burn down Castletown! They'll _hang_ me if they even _suspect_ that I'm going to _suggest_ we let the Hylians get away with this!"

"Nabooru, the Hylians haven't done anything," Impa said calmly. "Agahnim isn't even a Hylian." Nabooru directed a mulish glare at her.

"So?" She demanded. "Link didn't kidnap Zelda either, but everyone still seems quite content believing it. And it won't take long until they're blaming him for burning down half the palace."

"In all fairness," Impa said mildly, "according to Liam it _was_ Link's fault."

"Well if Liam – a _Hylian_ – hadn't been attacking him in the first place—"

"As a result of Agahnim's – _not_ a Hylian – magic." Nabooru growled quietly and pulled at her ponytail in an agitated fashion as she began to pace again.

"Impa, look, you're not understanding what I'm saying," she said. "It doesn't matter. None of that _matters_. You can rationalize it all you want. You can logic your way in and around it, and I'm not arguing with you, and I even agree with you on some of it, but it doesn't _matter_. A Gerudo King has been captured, possibly killed, we don't know. The treaty with the Hylians has been voided. Now…we've behaved ourselves better than most expected given the circumstances, but with Link gone…Impa we can't just sit there in the desert, all right? We have to do something. We have to act. My people will _demand_ action. And I don't know how I'm going to keep that from turning into action against Castletown."

"It will be the Great War all over again, Nabooru," Impa said with a frown. "You _can't_ do that. Not after everything we've worked for." The Sage of Spirit paused in her pacing for a moment, then gave Impa a look from over her shoulder that the Sage of Shadow did not like one bit.

"If I do," Nabooru said, her voice quiet, "where will the Sheikah fall?" Impa's face hardened and her eyes narrowed.

"Where we have to," she answered flatly. "Castletown is the seat of power in Hyrule. The Hylians are the rulers of Hyrule. You know our codes." She shook her head. "There has to be a way to prevent, this, Nabooru. _Think_." Nabooru shook her head and turned away, resuming her pacing.

"It would take a direct order from the King. I may be their leader, but I haven't got that kind of authority over them. I can be replaced. The King cannot. Unfortunately for us…"

"Can you delay it, then?" Impa asked. "We need to give Link time. He's gotten himself out of worse situations in the past. Who's to say he can't get himself out of this one too?" Nabooru stopped and turned to face her.

"Delay it how?" She demanded. "We're not exactly a patient people, I don't know if you noticed." Impa briefly ran down the mental list of all the Gerudo she knew personally: Nabooru, Link, Neesha.

"I've noticed," she said dryly. "But what about the Moblins? You can't very well split up your forces like that. With first-generation Moblins beating down your door it would be foolhardy to waste resources on Castletown." Nabooru dropped down onto the ground with a frustrated noise, laying back on the grass and going silent for a moment. Impa – recognizing the gesture as Nabooru's way of asking for time to think – settled herself onto the grass in a cross-legged position. She watched Nabooru silently, trying to read the decisions on the younger Sage's face, and willed her to think faster. They didn't have much time.

"I wish," Nabooru said after a moment, "that Saria and Zelda were here. This kind of thing is always easier with all seven of us."

"Well, they are not," Impa said feeling a sudden pang of sympathy for Nabooru. The way she felt about Link going missing probably wasn't all that different from Impa's own feelings regarding Zelda's abduction. "And we will have to make do with five."

"Four and a half," Nabooru corrected. "Rauru can't do much to help us in this case now can he?"

"No," Impa agreed, drumming her fingers on her knee as a sudden idea struck her, "but perhaps his brother can." Nabooru propped herself up on her elbows and raised an eyebrow.

"Do we have a plan, Impa?" She asked. "It would make me very happy if we had a plan."

"We have a thought," Impa responded cautiously. "A hope. Nothing more." Nabooru's eyes flashed.

"Right now, I'll take what I can get."

_Almost there! One more heave!_ Called the Captain in charge of getting the chain barriers in place. His men pushed hard against the large, heavy gate, falling away panting when it finally clanged loudly into place, sending a brief ripple through the water. Acqul nodded approvingly and tried to ignore the dead feeling in his chest that the sound created.

The gates hadn't been erected for decades. Not since the Great War. Though back then they'd been erected around Zora's River. To protect it from the multiple ways of entrance from the water. It had been a simple enough thing, really, to transport them out a bit and hem in Lake Hylia. Protecting the ground would be left to the other armies. The waterways would be the responsibility of the Zora. And to protect the rest of Hyrule from the underwater threat, the barriers had to go up.

They'd tried desperately to come up with something else. They'd even played briefly with the idea of using Ruto's powers. A talented strike team could have fought their way into the Water Temple with her, and there, at the seat of her power, she could have done something drastic. Blocked the flow of water from Lake Hylia somehow. Frozen all the waters in Hyrule for all he knew. He was unsure of the limit of her power.

Nor had he really ruled out using it.

It was just that it was too soon for that, and Hyrule needed the water. To block off Lake Hylia was to stem the flow of water everywhere. The lakes and rivers would dry up, as would Zora's Domain, and they couldn't have that. The Zoran barriers had been designed to allow the flow of water, but halt the flow of the enemy. That was what mattered.

But how long the old walls would hold…

Although he hoped it wouldn't come to it, he had already started to pick and choose a strike team from among his men. Just in case.

In his mind he flashed back briefly to the scene in Lake Hylia when the Tower had activated. They'd lost two of the Zora accompanying them to the green monstrosities spawned in the waters that had always belonged to the Zora and no other. Webbed hands and feet that ended in wicked claws, green scales that flashed in the light from the tower, a crest of fins on their head, and a mouth that revealed two rows of jagged teeth when opened… it was the stuff of nightmares. Like horror stories told to Zoran children who misbehaved in an attempt to scare them into being good.

They had to be spawned of the Dark World. Hyrule had its fair share of monsters, but nothing like those. And besides, the Zora would have encountered them before. The instant they'd smelled the blood in the water they'd gone insane. Like piranhas.

If it hadn't been for Ruto…

There was an undercurrent of tension in the water as his troops stared warily up at the barrier. Most of them were old enough to remember what the great chain gates meant. It had only been three years since the last war, and though that one had been blissfully short, almost negligible as far as time, it had been an expensive one. Nobody wanted another war. Nobody wanted to have to fight again.

But if that was what it came down to…

Acqul shook his head and forced his face into a neutral expression as the Captain swam forward to report what Acqul could see for himself.

The barrier was raised. War was upon them.

*******

##  **Chapter 14 (cont.)**

"Link! Link, control it! Tame it!"

I can barely hear Anduriel. She sounds like she's a million miles away even though she's right on top of me, pinning me to the ground as I try to thrash at her.

I am currently trapped in my own head, locked in a snarling, raging wrestling match with the blood-crazed thing that has snatched control of myself from me; the snarling thing inside me.

The beast.

"Link! Get control! Calm down!"

Like it's that easy. I'm as angry as it right now, and twice as terrified. I really only dimly understand what this thing is, why it's here, and what it's doing to me. The fact that I lost control to it that easily frightens me on a level I really don't want to be frightened on, and that, as much as rage, is fuelling me as I fight it for control.

Get calm, she says. Good luck.

"Link!"

It's no good. We're evenly matched and I can't beat it. I can't wrench control away from it. I can't even really tell right now where it ends and I begin. We're both clawing and screaming and trying to rip each other apart.

I can't win this…

Anduriel releases one of my arms, ignoring the immediate vice-like grasp I put on her own arm, and covers my face with her hand. The beast snarls its rage at what it knows will be an intervention in our struggle, but it's too late. I am blinded suddenly by a bright, golden light, then something rips the beast away from me and hurls it back into the darkness.

I come back to myself with a gasp and immediately remove my hand from Anduriel's arm, shocked at how red the area where my hand had been is. I go limp beneath her, panting hard. She slowly removes her hand from my face and peers down at me, a thin line of sweat on her brow. I stare back at her as the last vestiges of my anger and fear fade, and a sudden inrush of intense shame replaces it.

I just lost myself there.

The air smells of death and out of the corner of my eye I can see the bodies of the Moblins I just delighted in destroying. I can feel the slick evidence of my carnage on my hands and face and Din knows where else. I didn't just fight them. I didn't just kill them. I didn't even just destroy them.

I murdered them… never mind that they were Moblins. That didn't matter. When the beast was in control … it didn't care that they were Moblins. It just cared that they were alive, and that it could kill them.

It had even gone for Anduriel…

For a minute there, I was worse than Ganon ever was…and I couldn't even get myself back. It took Anduriel to do it for me.

"Link," Anduriel says, and I close my eyes and turn away, unable to meet her cloudy, golden gaze any longer. "Link, what did I tell you?" She demands, her voice urgent. I can't help but notice the sudden tremor in it. "You _need_ to fight those emotions. You cannot beat a beast made of anger with more anger. You'll only fuel it!"

"I'm sorry," I manage, shaking my head. "I tried…I couldn't…" Anduriel climbs off of me and drops into a seated position on the steps of the fortress, studying me unblinkingly. After a long moment she finally shakes her head.

"No, I'm sorry," she says at last. "It's too soon for this. I shouldn't have led you here before you were ready."

"What?" I demand, pushing myself up into a seated position. "What do you mean?" Anduriel shakes her head and leans back against the cool stone stairs, mindful of her pallid wings.

"The powers of the Dark World," she says softly, "are not something taken lightly. Not to be underestimated. It is too soon for you to be taking part in actions like this when you haven't even learnt to deal with – or even _coexist_ with – your alter ego, yet. It was irresponsible of me to bring you here."

"Anduriel," I say, "I'm not going back. I'm not _leaving_ here without whatever maiden is in there."

"And what good is a rescuer who cannot even rescue himself?" Anduriel demands. She's not being cruel, but she's being pointed, and it's effective. I recoil slightly.

"That was…" I look despite myself at the scattered Moblin corpses. Not even at my worst, have I ever… "Did I kill all of them?"

"Do you not remember doing it?" She asks. I tear my eyes away from them.

"I remember," I say, "but I was distracted. I wasn't really…it wasn't counting."

"I killed two," Anduriel replies. "They would be the cleaner corpses. By the time I was done that you had lost yourself in the blood rage and it was all I could do to subdue you at that point before you hurt yourself or something else." I push myself to my feet without answering and move over to pick up my sword where it fell. "Link, the Beast will be a big enough hindrance to you and your mission at night when you can't stop the change, but if you lose yourself to it in the day as well then we've no hope of ever completing this mission."

"Well why does it depend on me?" I demand suddenly, glaring at her as I pull a cloth out of my pouch to clean off the Master Sword's blade. "Why can't you—"

"Because I am bound to the Triforce, Link," Anduriel responds. "And by extrapolation to it's master, or masters. The Master of the Triforce of Power will not allow me to interfere with his plans for the maidens. The Master of the Triforce of Wisdom is currently not capable of guiding my actions one way or another. The _only_ way I can help is if a Master of one of the Triforce pieces will allow me to, and _you_ are the only one in a position to do that. If you lose yourself, I can do nothing, do you understand?" She pauses. "And I can help none but this one, anyway."

"What?" I ask, blinking at her. "What do you mean?"

"It is as I've said, Link," she says patiently. "This place is my place of power – what little of it I have left. Outside this domain … what strength you've seen, what power I've demonstrated only functions here. I could not even _see_ if I left my domain. A sightless, wingless, strengthless _makani_ is a sad sight indeed." A sudden cold feeling has settled into my gut.

"So … you're saying that even if we manage to rescue this one maiden, I'm on my own for the next six."

"Yes, Link," Anduriel responds. "That is what I'm saying. You understand now why you _need_ to learn to control the beast within you? I won't always be there to push it back. I would be surprised if I could do it again today without rest. It's a powerful creature indeed." I blow my bangs out of my eyes in frustration.

"It's not that easy," I argue. "I couldn't…when it came forward that last time there was nothing I could do. How am I supposed to fight that?"

"By not giving into it," she replies. "Whoever said fight fire with fire was a fool, Link. Fire feeds itself, grows larger. The same applies to anger and rage. If you respond to anger with more anger you only make it worse. You need to be calm. When the beast attacks meet it with serenity. Give it no foothold and it won't be able to take you." I stare at her uncertainly.

"It's not that easy," I repeat. She sighs and rustles her listless feathers.

"Link," she says quietly, "if I can fight the Dark World for as long as I have, then you can."

"That's not a fair comparison," I complain, "you're an immortal." Anduriel raises a cool eyebrow at me and shakes her head in something akin to disappointment. She gets to her feet and turns just slightly towards me, raising her arm to display her side. Her tunic has been slashed open and blood the color of oxidized gold has stained her side and tunic.

"Not anymore, Link," she says softly, touching the wound with a regretful expression on her face. "Not anymore." I suddenly want to curl up and die.

"Anduriel," I breathe. "Oh Farore, tell me that I'm not the one who…" My voice trails off and she doesn't answer, merely stares at me. There's a long pause as I stare at her wound in shock and she continues to stare at me with a considering expression.

"I think," she says slowly, "we should retreat for now. Return when you're more capable of dealing with the Dark World's influence."

"No!" I say, pulling my eyes up to hers. "No, we can't retreat! We can't just leave her in there!"

"Link, consider the wisdom of going in there unprepared. You didn't make it past the first fight—"

"It was the blood," I say quickly. "I _did_ resist it the first three times it tried. It was just the blood that did it, and you said that there won't be anything inside but inanimate traps. Those don't bleed."

"The Maeasm will," she counters. "And do you really want the maiden caught in the crossfire if you lose yourself?" I turn my gaze uneasily back to the bodies scattered at the base of the steps and then to the wound in the Sentinel's side. I hesitate for a long moment.

"Do you know who it is?" I ask. "Do you know which maiden is trapped in there?"

Most of them would be strong enough to wait … Hunter, Neesha, Zelda and Saria I'd bet my life that they'd be all right if we delay a little bit. Even Goron-Link. It'll kill me to wait, it'll kill me to leave them there, but Anduriel's right, as much as I hate to admit it, and we may be better off.

But if it's…

"Water," Anduriel answers. "The blood of the Sage of Water flows somewhere in that structure." I close my eyes.

"Dammit," I hiss, rubbing my forehead. "Goddess _dammit_." Then, "No. No, I'm not retreating. I can't leave her in there." Anduriel raises an eyebrow.

"But there are some you would?" She asks.

"The others … the others would be all right. But not … for Nayru's sake, Anduriel, she's not even three yet. She's just a baby. I can't do that to her. I can't leave her in there." Anduriel remains cautious.

"Link, you understand that they are not hurting her, don't you?" She asks. "She is captured, but not in pain. Not even really in danger. The spell preserves and protects her from that and Ganon's forces know better than to tamper with the maidens."

"I will _not_ leave a three-year old in the hands of an enemy she's not even old enough to recognize yet," I respond flatly. "If it was anyone else, Anduriel, I'd seriously consider it, but not her. I can't do that to her. I won't. I'll go in there without you if I have to, I don't care, but I'm not leaving her in there." I fix her with my best sullenly mulish expression and am more than a little smug to discover that it apparently works on immortals just as well as on mortals. Anduriel sighs and nods.

"All right," she says. "But be careful, Link. And whatever you do stay calm. I doubt the little girl would be much happier about a friend who hurts her than an enemy who can't."

"Laruto," I say as we turn and head towards the door. "Her name is Laruto. And besides," I add, "I've already paid Kiki to open the doors and somehow I doubt he's fond of the idea of refunds."

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Darunia sighed heavily as he watched his people try to settle into their new home in the Sheikah Caverns. On the upside, it was still caves. On the downside, it wasn't _their_ caves. For the most part the Sheikah helping them out were friendly enough, although still very Sheikan. And more than one of them looked slightly harassed at the thought of _more_ interlopers in their ancestral home – which they generally tried to keep secret. He felt a brief pang of amused pity for them. It was hard to keep secrets and still be good neighbours sometimes.

"Big Brother?" Darunia blinked and glanced over. Arkun clapped him roughly on the back. "We can handle things here," he said. "You should go help out Karun. Our army needs you more than our civilians right now." Darunia turned around and surveyed those gathered as they looked up at this pronouncement and gave him confident smiles and even a few winks. Even after being asked at the very last minute to pack up their homes and lives and abandon their _own_ ancestral home to whatever Moblins may claim it, his people remained optimistic and confident. Not a sour face among them. He gave them the smile he reserved for Gorons and Sworn Brothers alone, feeling a sudden surge of warmth for his indomitable people.

"All right," he said, returning Arkun's clap tenfold. "I'll see you on the surface once you're done here." He turned towards the exit and started off.

He didn't really pay attention to where he was going. He didn't know the Sheikan Caverns that well, but, being a Goron, he had an innate sense of which way up was and he'd find an exit easily enough with that instinct.

He supposed he shouldn't really be wasting time wandering through the halls when he could just ask where the nearest exit was, but he knew from hard-earned experience that these last few hours before the Moblins arrived would be the last he'd spend in any kind of peace. Indulgences were allowed in such cases as far as he was concerned, and so he allowed himself to enjoy the walk for what it was: a walk.

He had a feeling it would be the last he'd have for a while.

Besides, he'd always liked the Sheikan Caverns. His own caves had been smoothed and shaped carefully over the years by talented smiths and stoneworkers until the whole city would have been indistinguishable from a normal building made of stone save the lack of seams. But the Sheikah had allowed their caverns to grow and form as they would, guided by no hand but the Goddesses. They occasionally dug themselves a new hole or two if their population expanded or they needed the space, but otherwise the caves were left to their own devices. The Sheikah liked it better that way. They were big on not leaving a trace of themselves behind and so were quite content to leave Nature as their architect.

You had to venture deep into the caverns behind Goron City to find caves like these.

"…we've gotta do something!" Darunia blinked and stopped, taken aback for a moment by the sudden angry shout. "We can't just let them…you shouldn't have to…this isn't _fair_!" Darunia blinked. That was Thomas. He moved towards the voice. What could have gotten the boy so…

Bel and Mel's trial. That had been scheduled for that day, hadn't it?

He paused instead with his hand on the partly open door, deciding that perhaps a bit of eavesdropping was in order.

"Thomas," said one of the twins, "stop it, all right? It _is_ fair. What we did was _wrong_ on so many levels."

"Well what were we supposed to do!" Responded another of the twins angrily. "Just let him die!"

"Agahnim wouldn't have killed him," responded the first, distinguishable only by the tone. "Right Thomas?"

"I…" Thomas trailed off, his inability to answer all the affirmation the twins needed.

"We were fooled, Bel. We let ourselves be fooled and we betrayed our _people_ by doing it. We deserve exile." Darunia winced. So that had been the sentence. He had his own opinions of what Bel and Mel had done and he found himself disagreeing with such a harsh sentence.

But he was no Sheikah, and it was their business.

"It doesn't seem right," Thomas said, sounding upset and angry. "It's my fault. You guys didn't even do anything wrong. I did things I don't even want to think about! I mean I kil…I murd…" He stopped, frustrated.

"Thomas, you didn't!" One of the twins said angrily. "That's the whole point! You weren't in control of your actions!"

"Well they still shouldn't exile _you_ for trying to protect me!" Thomas exploded. "It isn't right! None of them wanted to! I could see it one their faces when they left the council chamber! Nobody likes this!"

"Well what are we supposed to do about it?" The twins demanded at the same time. One of them continued. "We'll be leaving with the first caravan out, Thomas—"

"I'm surprised we haven't already."

"—and there's nothing we can do about it! So … stop making this harder!"

"So that's it then?" Thomas demanded. "You're just going to sit there and accept this? You're not even going to _try_ to do something!"

"What can we do?"

"There's gotta … there's gotta be a way for you to redeem yourselves somehow," Thomas said desperately. "I'll help. I'll do anything. We just need to find some way for you to prove that you're loyal to Hyrule. That's all."

"You say it like it's easy."

"It's not easy, Thomas."

"Well fine then!" Thomas cried. "Fine! Go on! Go on and accept your damn sentence and go live in Summerfell, but _I'm_ not giving up!"

And in that instant, Darunia made a decision.

True, it was Sheikan business…

But when you got right down to it, Darunia had never really been a business man.

He stepped back and away from the door for a few meters, then stopped and called out.

"Thomas! Bel? Mel? You around here?" The shouting in the room went silently suddenly, and after a moment of hushed whispers the door opened and Thomas stuck his head out. His face was still red and his hair was more dishevelled than usual, but he did an excellent job of putting on a neutral face. Sheikah to the core.

"Something up Big Brother?" He asked respectfully.

"Have you spoken with your mother yet today?" He asked.

"No, she's been busy," he answered. "She said she was going to make some kind of announcement soon, though. I bet you could catch her if you ran down to the—"

"I'm not looking for her," Darunia said, waving him off. "I'm looking for you and the twins. Are they around?" Bel's head joined Thomas's in the door.

"Yes?" Darunia grinned at the three of them. It was a long shot, and he might have some time talking the others into it, but…

"I have a proposition for you…"


	15. Two Days in Hell

#  **Chapter 15 and Interludes**

_"A politician is a fellow who will lay down your life for his country._ "  
Texas Guinan

_"The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together."  
_ Erma Bombeck

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Oh yes, of course!" Said the woman brightly. "Just give me a minute and I'll fetch him. You have a seat dear, I shan't be a moment." And as easily as that she bustled off. Brayden felt a brief sting of helpless irritation at how easy this was. The boy was in trouble and his family wasn't even bothering to hide him from strangers. Two queries in town as to whether anyone knew of a thirteen year old boy from Castletown come to stay with his relatives, and a short little walk, and he was on top of the kid.

What if he had been the Hylian guard? His sister was still considered wanted on one trumped up charge or another. The call for her arrest had gone out the instant Agahnim realized she'd gone missing. And Brayden knew for a fact that Agahnim wouldn't have spared her brother if he couldn't find her.

He sighed and let his irritation go. It didn't matter. He had found the boy before the guard could and that was what counted. He didn't even think the guard was actively looking for him. His family probably didn't even fully understand the danger he was in anyway. He wasn't sure how much Marni had told her aunt in the letter she had sent with her brother.

He sighed again and settled himself into a simple wooden chair at the kitchen table, loosening his scarf. It had been freezing outside, but between the stove in the corner and the light shining in through the window, the little kitchen was almost uncomfortably warm. He cast a casual glance around the room and tried his best not to be jealous of all the little hints of family in the room. There were baby toys in the corner, scattered on the floor; a man's coat, two women's coats, and a child's coat hung near the stove; lunch was simmering over the fire, a pot too large to have been intended for one person only; and a million other little hints and clues that a family lived here.

And each and every one of them only served to drive the icy knife of grief and fear even deeper than it had been into Brayden's heart. His brother was dead, and all three of the people he considered his children were gone. Missing in action. Two of them, he knew, were alive. Din only knew in what kind of dire straits, but alive. They had to be. If nothing else, the ever-growing horde of Moblins gave him that much hope at least. But the third…his son…no one knew. No one knew if he was alive, or dead, or dying somewhere. No one even knew if he was on this plane. No one knew anything about where he was.

Brayden didn't let himself dwell on it too long, however. He'd learned his lesson regarding that the hard way. If he focused on it he'd just drive himself into a helpless panic, which was no good at all. There was work that needed to be done here, and every last able-bodied man, woman and child was required to do it. He couldn't help Link. He didn't even know where Link was. Didn't even know if Link was alive.

He _could_ help the people here. _Had_ to help the people here.

He couldn't do anything for Link, but pray and trust in his abilities to get himself through this crisis like he had all the others. He had worked miracles before, even in the short three years since Brayden had been reunited with him. He had to believe that Link could work them again.

Luck ran in his family. It was in his blood.

He just hoped it would be enough.

***

"Hey, Timo." Thomas sighed heavily and forced his irritation back.

"With all due respect, Lady Nabooru," he said, turning around and meeting her gaze with a trace of his old nervousness. No matter what he'd been through, Nabooru still had an innate ability to scare him. "My name is Thomas."

"Whatever, kid," she said waving it off as unimportant, prompting him to briefly wonder if she was forgetting his name on purpose, and what, exactly, her point was in doing so. "And don't call me 'lady.' I haven't got a title. I don't want a title. Call me Nabooru and let me hear whatever respect you feel I'm due in your voice, not in your useless additions to my name. Now, listen, I've got a proposition for you." Thomas straightened. Second time he'd heard that phrase today, and he couldn't help but wonder if this proposition would be as shocking as the last has been.

On the other hand, when a Gerudo offered a Sheikah a proposition it was _bound_ to be shocking – and quite possibly life-threatening.

"Um," he said, "all right. What is it?"

"You've heard the announcement?" She asked. "The one your Mum just made?" Thomas raised an eyebrow and felt depressed all over again.

"You mean the one about how Neesha and Link are missing and an army of first generation Moblins are plotting our doom as we speak?" He asked.

"That's the one," Nabooru said almost cheerily. Thomas couldn't help staring at her incredulously. "So here's the deal: how close were you to what Agahnim was doing to the Maidens?" Thomas felt his gut clench and he frowned.

"Nabooru, I've told you all I know already," he said quietly. "I'd really, rather not relive it all over again."

"Sorry, worded my question wrong," Nabooru returned. "I meant it literally. Physically how closer were you when the spell was cast?" Thomas blinked in surprise.

"Well, I was … I was there."

"How close?"

"Very close," Thomas answered, irritated with her. "Right beside the damn altar. What does this have to do with—"

"Perfect!" Nabooru said, smirking at nothing in particular. "We'll find him yet." She turned the smirk on Thomas and the Sheikah suddenly felt very, very afraid.

"What are you—"

"Come on, Terrance," she said without a _hint_ of any doubt he would immediately follow her, "it's back to the desert for you!"

*******

##  **Chapter 15**

"I give up!" I cry, throwing my hands into the air. "We've tried everything. We beat the monsters; door didn't open. We found the switch, pushed it; door didn't open. We grabbed a statue and pushed _that_ onto the switch; door didn't open. I've smashed the switch, both doors, and half the walls with every last implement in my pouch and _still_ the door won't open! What more can we do! The room is empty!"

It's true. Except for the ugly gargoyle statue I grunted and shoved and heaved over and onto the switch that I had hoped would open the door, there's nothing in here but me, Anduriel and Kiki. Normally at this point, I'd suggest turning around and just going back the way we came to find another way, or some other piece of the puzzle we're obviously missing, but _that_ door is shut too and we can't open it.

"Link, remember what I said about serenity?" Anduriel inquires calmly. "Now would be a good time to apply it."

I mutter something impolite under my breath and storm off to a corner to cool down.

I can't help being frustrated at this delay. I'm more impatient than ever to just get to Laruto and get her out. Especially given that I've got a limited amount of time … if we don't find her before night falls…

You know, I don't really remember being three years old. I mean, I remember being 17 years old and going back in time and meeting myself when I was three years old, but that doesn't count. I don't have that memory from the other angle. I suppose it's for the best – three wasn't really a good year for me (neither was 17 come to think of it, but just as many good things came out of it as bad, so I suppose I can't complain). Between the war I wasn't old enough to understand, the mad run for the Lost Woods and the loss of both my parents … some things are best left forgotten. I can only imagine how a three-year-old would have felt about all those things. I can't imagine how you'd deal with it. You've barely got the cognitive ability to differentiate between boys and girls at that age, or circles and squares, never mind contemplating death and war and a million other things.

But even then I had an advantage over Laruto. I may have been three, but I was born in the middle of a war, and even at that age I suspect I was no stranger to running. Not many three year olds understand the concept of enemies, but I did. Had to, I had so damn many of them.

But Laruto…Laruto was born during a stretch of peace (or hatched, or _whatever._ Forgive me if I'm neither knowledgeable nor interested in the birthing process of Zora. It's right up there on my list of things-I-don't-want-to-think-about with the Goron reproductive cycles. They both have babies. Don't know how. Don't care how. Don't want to know how. The kids are cute that's all that matters. Some things you just aren't meant to know). Laruto's never had any enemies. Laruto's never even had to deal with discomfort in her short little life. She's spoiled rotten, just like her mother (though Acqul does his best to temper this as well as he can. The two women in Acqul's life, however, his wife and his daughter, both have him wrapped around their little fingers. It'll be one battle the General never wins…). She's the sweetest, happiest, cutest little Zora you've ever met in your entire life and I love her to pieces.

And right now she's trapped in the Dark World, under some kind of black magic spell, and in the hands (pincers?) of a giant, evil Maeasm. It's been months since she's last seen her parents, and in fact the last she saw of her parents was her father being attacked and having his arm broken.

All I want right now is to rescue her. To get her out of here. I know I can't get her out of the Dark World yet, not until I find a portal of some kind, but if I could just get her away from _here_.

But first I need to find a way out of this room.

I throw another, frustrated look around the room. There's no way out. Two doors and they're both locked and barred and apparently unbreakable. The switch is pressed and they won't open. We're trapped in here. Trapped like rats.

Or monkeys.

I blink. Where is the little monkey, anyway?

As though summoned by my thoughts I feel a thunk on my head that causes me to give a startled yelp and jump away from the wall, twisting around and looking up. The little monkey blinks down at me with his too-large eyes from a crevice in the ceiling and looks suspiciously as though he is smirking.

"I is being finding something," he says. "There is being a tunnel in the ceiling."

"Where does it lead, Kiki?" Anduriel inquires calmly before I can respond.

"It is being leading to another room, Ki. Like this one, Ki."

"Does the other room have a switch?" I ask, brightening.

"Ki, Kiki thinks so, yes."

"It's a double switch," I mutter. "Farore, I hate these things." Anduriel turns to me expectantly.

"You seem to have experience with this sort of thing. What would you recommend?" I scratch my head. There's really only one thing to do, and that's push the other switch. Once both are pushed the door should open. But the question remains…

"Kiki, how far is it from here to the other room?" I ask. Kiki's nose twitches.

"Far," he says. "Kiki runs down long tunnel."

"So if I walked through that door, it probably won't open up onto the room you saw?"

"Kiki is thinking nos."

"Great I mutter," rubbing my face wearily. "Just great."

"What?" Anduriel asks. I sigh.

"We're probably going to have to fight our way through a couple rooms in order to get to the one that Kiki saw. When he presses the switch the doors will unlock, likely for as long as he sits on the switch, but in the meantime, we're going to have to fight our way through to him."

"You're sure?"

"I've made something of a career as a dungeon crawler," I tell her simply. "If this place works at all like the Temples in the Light World – and it has so far – then I'm sure." I look back up at Kiki. "Anything dangerous in the room with the switch?" Kiki frowns.

"Nos," he says. "There is just being the switch. It is being like this rooms."

"Good," I say. "Kiki, we need you to go sit on that switch. And don't move until we get there."

"Ki, alones!" Kiki demands. "You is wantings Kiki to being sitting alones!"

"Uh, yeah," I say, frowning at him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what I just said." Kiki's nose twitches.

"Kiki is being charging—"

"Kiki is being charging nothing!" I snarl, cutting him off and pointing an accusatory finger at him. "We had a deal, you little rat! Ten rupees now, ninety later, and you do what I say without charging me anything else from now on." Kiki glares at me.

"Kiki was not knowing you is being wanting him to sits alones!" He complains. "Ki, you is not being fair."

"A deal's a deal," I say flatly, crossing my arms. "And I'm not paying you the ninety rupees if you break the deal." Kiki sniffs, offended.

"Then Kiki just leaves you here," he says. "Kiki can be finding his own ways out."

"Kiki can go ahead and leave," I respond, turning around and leaning up against the wall, "but if Kiki leaves me here, he's not going to get paid the ninety rupees. Can't very well get it for him if I die in here, now can I?" Kiki pauses, hesitates. His nose twitches. At last he makes a frustrated noise.

"Fines!" He cries, then turns and scampers into the hole in the wall, muttering to himself. I roll my eyes and push off the wall, reaching over my shoulder and loosening my sword in its sheath as I do so.

"Any idea what we're looking at beyond this door?" I ask Anduriel. She cocks her head to one side.

"I can hear…mechanical rumblings. I really can't tell you more than that, unfortunately." She looks genuinely apologetic. "I could expand my senses, but that would alert the monster to our presence and I don't think that would be wise." I nod fervently.

"I'm with you on that one," I say. "Last time I messed with a Maeasm I was unconscious for two weeks. And that was just a little one." I shake my head and give an involuntary shudder. The venom from the cat-sized scorpion had made me as sick as I've ever been. Gerudo blood, or not, I'm still pretty sure I'm lucky I survived it. Not to mention the subsequent capture by the Witches and near brush with brainwashing.

As always when I remember that … adventure, my mind flashes back to an image of myself in black leather, with frightening blue eyes. The version of me Koume and Kotake showed to me when they tried to convert me. It had frightened me then, the possibility that I could become that, but I've got a whole new context now to be scared of it in.

That version of me is one who lost himself to the Beast, and it makes the threat of this thing inside me that much more real. The thought puts a cold chill into my bones and something of it must show on my face because Anduriel gives me a concerned look.

"What's wrong?" She asks. I shake my head and draw the Master Sword, clutching its hilt and taking comfort in its familiar weight.

"Nothing," I say. "I'm all right. Just … unhappy train of thought, that's all." Anduriel watches me for a moment more and looks as though she's going to say something, but the next instant there's a mechanical grinding and the door finally wrenches itself open. We turn as one and tense, peering into the next room to see what we're up against. I wince and grind my teeth together.

"Ah for Din's sake…"

The room is a long and narrow one. Up the middle of it run a series of treadmills, most of which appear to be running in random directions, and every now and then switching up, just for fun. Between us and the other end are a series of rather deadly looking spike-ball-things that sweep back and forth across the ground, the tips of their points scraping against the floor and the treadmills as they go. Floating idly above the treadmills and between the spiked-balls-of-death are a few of the weird little jelly-fish type things that randomly float around this place. They have nothing to do with anything as far as I can see, but they're annoying none-the-less.

On the other end of the room, Kiki is perched in the middle of a second room visible through the door.

"Goddess I hate rooms like this."

"I _do_ wish you would use something besides the Goddesses to swear," Anduriel notes calmly as she moves for the door. "Just be careful, that's all. Take it slowly."

"The treadmills are going to make taking it anywhere difficult," I mutter, then draw in my breath. "All right, let's do this thing." I tense myself and wait 'till the first ball has swung out of my trajectory before pushing myself into the room and onto one of the treadmills heading towards Kiki. Thanks to its speed I'm well past the first ball long before it swings my way again.

Unfortunately, I'm now on a floor consisting entirely of treadmills, all going in any direction they feel like, and little things like timing my rushes are suddenly a lot more complicated.

For example:

I'm bracing myself on a treadmill heading towards Kiki and the end of the room, getting ready to leap past the next spiky ball when it passes, but just as I bend my legs to spring past it, the treadmill abruptly changes direction, causing me to stumble forward a step and fall on my face. The treadmill carries me back just in time to keep my head from being impaled on a long spike, but now I haven't got my feet, and it's carrying me back towards the first ball, which looks like it's going to be timed exactly to when I arrive, which is very not good.

I snarl an oath – Goddess free, I might add – and roll to the side, onto a treadmill heading back towards Kiki's room. I manage to make it past the second spiky ball on my hands and knees, but the treadmill after the first one is going in the opposite direction, so I'm not really making any progress once I'm past the ball, just sort of crawling in place. Frantically, I might add. Once the ball I've just passed (which is immediately behind me and too close for comfort) has passed, I take the chance to throw myself to my feet, only to have the treadmill abruptly change direction, heading now for Kiki's room, and throwing me forward once more…

… and right into one of the jellyfish. It doesn't hurt at first, of course. At first it's actually kind of soft and billowy, like a pillow. A pillow with tentacles that gently wrap around you as you struggle to free yourself from it, as though it's trying to hug you goodnight. And then, quite abruptly, it tucks you in with a violent shock of electricity that makes your legs stiffen and your vision go black and no matter how hard you try you can't let go because your body has mysteriously stopped listening to you. The best part, though, is that you're standing on a treadmill and you know that you're heading for a spiky ball of death. Your only real comfort, of course, is that the thing is attached to you at the moment, and so will likely suffer the same sticky fate, pillow-like-texture or not.

They should put a label on these things: Store at room temperature in a dark dungeon. Keep out of reach of children, animals, and wayward heroes. Not a lifesaving device.

On the upside, I just happen to have a real lifesaving device with me. Its name is Anduriel.

A flash of light penetrates the black ring around my sight and the tentacles loosen their grip. The next instant something is ripping the thing off of me and I can feel my legs going limp at last. Before I can hit the floor (treadmill…whatever), however, Anduriel grabs me and hauls me to my feet, stepping back onto a treadmill heading away from Kiki (and the spiked-ball-of-death nearly on top of us) and pulling me with her.

"Snap out of it, Link," she says. "You need your wits about you."

"You know," I manage thickly, shaking my head in a desperate attempt at clearing it. "I could have sworn you said that all the defences would be inanimate." I pull free of her grasp and miraculously manage to keep my balance as the treadmill changes direction again. "My shocking little friend over there would beg to differ."

"I didn't know about these," she responds calmly, turning around and leaping past the spiky-ball-of-death. I follow suite with decidedly less grace. "They're new."

"Ah," I say, bracing myself for a sudden shift in direction of the treadmill I'm on. We continue our slow, awkward way across the floor. "And this crazy treadmill-death-ball room? This new too?"

"The spikes are new," she admits. "It was originally designed merely to test anyone seeking entrance. Not to kill them. It's new … occupants must have felt my puzzles too mild and have decided to take them up a level."

"On what, the death scale?" I demand caustically, just barely dodging another floating jellyfish.

"Should such a scale actually exist," Anduriel says, "then yes. I expect it would be on the death scale." I stumble but keep my balance as the treadmill under my feet jerks back towards the room Kiki is in and the last spiky ball between me and it. It'll be close, but if I run I should make it.

And once I do I'm one step closer to rescuing Laruto and getting her out of this hell hole.

I'll deal with what comes after that when I get to it.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

There were three essential weapons in any half-decent politician's arsenal. Each of them was simple in their own right, but when used properly could grant a man access to power beyond his dreams. Cities, kingdoms, _worlds_ could be toppled through subtle manipulation of these three tools. Agahnim had used them to their full extent and in doing so had brought Hyrule to her knees – but Agahnim wasn't the only one skilled with their use.

As the youngest son of the House of Eldrick, a distant cousin of the King himself, Dorian Eldrick had basted in politics for the entirety of his eighteen years. There wasn't a thing in his house that didn't have something to do with the "family business" and he had learned those lessons well – studied under the masters. He knew most of the nobles at court (had been "close" for brief periods of time with most of their daughters, and one or two of their wives) and had learned from them as well.

This, he knew, was his test. His _Quisros_ as the Sheikah would have called it. This was his chance to prove to himself and to the world that he was a man, and a man of Hyrule no less.

The mangy dogs were gnawing away at Hyrule – it was time to teach them their proper place in the world.

It was time to unsheathe the politician's weapons.

"People of Hyrule!" He cried, raising his hands and quelling the rumbling crowd in front of him. He attempted a mental head count but lost track halfway through the crowd. It looked like all of Castletown was out – maybe even half of Kakariko. "I bring before you today a young man that most of you know by face, if not by name! He's worked to protect and defend you from your enemies since he was a boy, and he continues to do so today! Others have attempted to keep him from speaking to you – from telling you the _truth!_ – but you have a right to know!" He paused for effect and let his words sink in. A nervous rumble ran through the crowd. "He brings dire news, but I ask you to listen to what he has to say before passing any judgement."

The first of the politician's arsenal was the _dramatis personae_. The people who would make up your case – because everyone knew that an argument wasn't won with logic and rationality. People didn't vote for options, they voted for other people. Everything was personal in politics, and you had to make it personal. To do that, you needed three different figureheads, each with their own, unique purpose.

The first, was the hero – a figure that people knew, respected, and could love. Someone from among the common ranks, plain, but not too plain. Easy on the eyes and ears, but not strikingly so. Someone simple, trustworthy, and sincere – even if you weren't.

"I give you Liam, Captain of the Guard of Castletown!"

The young man limped forward almost shyly, uncertain of himself and the crowd perhaps, but not of his purpose. Eldrick squeezed his shoulder comfortingly, mindful of the many bandages that still covered the young man's burns and wounds – made sure the people in the crowd could see him do it – and stepped back, offering him an encouraging smile. As Liam turned his face back towards the gathered people, Eldrick could _feel_ their trust. He could _feel_ their readiness to believe him – this young man who looked so much like them, who came _from_ them. He was theirs and this gave him a credibility Eldrick could never _hope_ to have.

"I have … I have grim news," Liam said, nervous in front of the crowd, which frantically shushed itself so they could hear him better. "Agahnim is dead. He—" But he couldn't finish. The crowd reacted with an angry outcry at this simple phrase and Eldrick resisted the urge to smirk. Liam turned a desperate look back on him and he obliged it by stepping forward and raising his hands.

"People! People!" He shouted until the tumult had died down. "There is more! This is not as simple a matter as it first appears! Please hear him out!" The shouts began to die down, but here and there Eldrick could hear the sounds of crying and it took little effort to let his face twist into a sneer. "Don't waste your grief on the Wizard," he called. "Don't weep for him. Weep for the Hyrule he's attempted to steal from you!" Several people called out angrily, defending the old wizard, but Eldrick would have none of it. "You have been fooled!" He cried. "We have _all_ been fooled! We trusted him, we believed in him, we even _loved_ him and he betrayed us! If you will not listen to me, then listen to the Captain! Let him tell you of what Agahnim has done to him!"

The second member required of the _dramatis personae_ was that of the villain. A person who was easy to hate; who could incite raging desires of violence and vengeance in a people; who had wronged the people greatly – whether the wrong is perceived or real. And an advantage for Eldrick was that Agahnim's wrongs were very, _very_ real.

Liam stepped forward again.

"It's true!" He shouted over the tumult. The crowd settled down immediately and turned as one to face him. He held his ground under their stares, finding strength at last in his purpose. Each of his bandages stood out as confirmation of his words. "Agahnim has had … he put me under a spell and has made me help him with his schemes. He's been lying to us since the day he came! He poisoned the King—" a gasp "—kidnapped those girls—" an outraged cry "—and has cast a spell on the Princess, sending her away somewhere!"

An outright riot.

People screamed that Liam was right, that Liam was wrong, that Agahnim was a rat, or else a hero, that the princess was dead, that there was yet hope for her.

Someone, somewhere screamed something about Link and Eldrick seized his chance.

The third, and perhaps most important, of a the _dramatis personae_ is the martyr. Someone who's suffered, or preferably died for the cause. A person whom the people will love in death as they never did in life. A shining symbol of whatever cause you care to ascribe to them, that not even the most silver-tongued politician can take away from the people.

Eldrick wished with all his heart that it could have been someone – _anyone_ – else, but even he had to admit that it was almost too good to be true. He doubted he'd ever find a more perfect martyr, save the Princess herself.

"The Hero of Time has been framed!" He shouted, coming up to stand beside Liam, who had blanched at the sight of the furious crowd. "Agahnim would have you believe that he's turned on us! That our once-saviour has fallen harder than any before him, but it's not true!" The tumult grew louder and Eldrick gave up any hope of being heard.

Not that it mattered.

The second weapon in a politician's arsenal was that of passion. Of fanaticism and love and hate and base lusts. People were creatures of passion; enslaved to it in ways most of them never fully understood. It didn't matter what you made them feel – anger, love, hate, despair, hope – so long as they felt it passionately. Once you had that you were one step away from the politician's strongest, and most dangerous weapon.

"Think about it!" Eldrick cried once he was sure he could be heard again. "Just think about it! How long has the King been sick!" He pause as the crowd murmured uneasily. "Since Agahnim appeared! And who was named Regent in the King's absence? Was it Zelda? The woman who's been trained for that _precise_ position since the day she was _born_? No! It was Agahnim! When, in the history of Hyrule have we _ever_ allowed an outsider to sit on our throne! Even by proxy! Agahnim has accused Link of kidnapping the princess and the other maidens, but I ask you this: how could Link have done that? He was off with our neighbours on a diplomatic mission at the time, and the witnesses for this are more than you can count. What happened as soon as he left? People starting going missing, because he wasn't here to prevent it. And why wasn't he here? Who sent him off? Agahnim! And why?" He paused and surveyed the crowd who were staring back at him; a sea of narrowed and widened eyes. "Because Link knew the truth about Agahnim. He's known it all along!"

Someone at the back screamed something about treason.

"The only _treason_ that's been committed," Eldrick spat contemptuously, "is that we have sat back for so long and allowed an _outsider_ to infiltrate our government and _usurp_ our throne from it's rightful owners! We've allowed an _outsider_ to poison our minds against those who would seek to save us! We've allowed him to poison us, _period_! How many of you fought in the Battle of Castletown just three scant years ago! How many of you were _freed_ in the Battle of Castletown? Who led that battle? Who helped the leaders of Hyrule win back our city and our kingdom and our _freedom_! It wasn't _Agahnim_. It was Sir Link, a Knight of Hyrule! And Sir Hunter of the Sheikah and Lady Neesha of the Gerudo! Both Knights in their own right! And Agahnim convinced us that they were the enemy. I don't know how he did it, I don't know what black magic he used, but we believed him, didn't we?" The crowd murmured an assent. "When he told us that he would lead us to a new age of peace and prosperity we believed him didn't we!" Again, assent, louder. "And now that he's dead and his shadow has been lifted from eyes, do we have it! Do we have the peace we've longed for?"

" _NO!_ " Shouted the crowd. This much, at least, was obvious to them. For the last few months there had been little resembling peace in the Kingdom. Eldrick pressed home his points on things he knew they would agree on. The seeds of doubt had been planted on the controversial issues. It was time to unite this rabble into a force to be reckoned with.

"And now his supporters seek to fill the void he's left on the throne of Hyrule! These treasonous dogs would rule Hyrule themselves! Will we allow it!"

" _NO!"_

Arguably the most powerful, and obviously the most dangerous, tool of any politicians arsenal, however, is the mob. A mass of individuals formed by base passion into a single entity, with the force of will and of arms to at the very least shake the throne of even the greatest tyrants, if not topple it completely.

Or, in this case, preserve it against all who would claim it as their own.

"Princess Zelda is alive!" He shouted, gesturing angrily. "She's been stolen from us, from right under our noses, and they think that we'll just let them get away with this! Will we _ever_ allow _anyone_ but a Hyrule on our throne! Will we recognize _anyone_ but the Princess Zelda Hyrule as our lawful and rightful leader!"

" _NO!"_ Shouted the crowd, in a frenzy now.

It only required one last thing to fan the flames into an inferno. One last piece to unite the divided people into a unified force no matter what controversies may lay between them. They needed a battle-cry, and Eldrick knew just the one.

"The King is dead!" Eldrick shouted, loosing all the passion and righteous anger he could muster into his shout. "Long live Queen Zelda!"

The crowd answered him as one, and the youngest son of the House of Eldrick at last allowed himself to smirk.

***

"Absolutely not," he said, glaring flatly at Darunia. "With all due respect, Big Brother, you're overstepping your bounds here."

"Daddy!" Bel hissed. "You're being unreasonable!"

"Unreasonable!" He cried. "Is it unreasonable to prefer my only children alive and safe in Summerfell as opposed to running around on the front lines?"

"We're not children!" Mel cried. "We've passed our _Quisros_ —"

"With flying colours," Bel added.

"—and we have just as much right to fight in this war as you do!"

"No, as a matter of fact you do not," he growled. "Perhaps you weren't paying attention during your trial, but you two are no longer considered Sheikah. You have no more right to participate in this war than—"

"Fine," Bel growled, "so we're not Sheikah."

"Doesn't matter," Mel said, "because that just means we don't have to fight for _you_."

"We're free agents," Bel clarified.

"You're rebels," their father countered. "Exiles. You're not even supposed to _be_ in Hyrule."

"Well we can't _leave_ Hyrule because of the Moblins."

"Yeah, we're just going to … maybe speed things up a bit. The more Moblins we kill, the easier for us to actually fulfill the terms of our Exile and leave."

"Cut the sophistry, girls. I said no and I meant—"

"You're not listening!" Mel exploded. "We don't care if you say no!"

"Daddy, we love you, but you can't boss us around anymore. We've passed our _Quisros_ , we're not kids anymore."

"We're exiled, so we're not Sheikah anymore."

"You can't stop us from joining whoever we want to anymore than you could stop a Hylian. You haven't _got_ any power over us."

"I love you," he responded flatly. "And I'm still your father. That's power enough. I thought you two _wanted_ to go visit your mother. Din knows she's been nagging me since she heard you were back to send you down to see her."

"This isn't about you and Mum," Bel said flatly.

"This is about Bel and me," said Mel.

"And Mel and me are going to be fighting for Hyrule until they can send us away."

"If the Sheikah won't have us, we'll fight with whoever will."

"Hyrule's not about race, anyway. Isn't that what the last war was about?"

"Isn't that what we were supposed to learn?"

"This is a _serious_ breach of protocol!" Their father exploded. "This is illegal! You can't—"

"Daddy, we're going!" Bel shouted.

"If you won't let us we'll leave anyway! You can't stop us!" Their father ground his teeth for a long moment.

"Listen to me, girls," he said in a dangerously quiet voice, "the Council went easy on you, do you understand that? They could have had you killed – you have no idea … you can't possibly understand how lucky you are. Maybe, in a few years, if you just behave yourselves we can bring the issue up again. Maybe we'll be able to convince them too—"

"Daddy, we kidnapped a Princess of Hyrule and handed her over to her enemies," Bel said flatly.

"Yes we were lucky," Mel said, "but you know as well as we do that there will be no second chances unless we do something equally as drastic as what got us into this mess in the first place."

"I'll tell Impa," he said flatly.

"Tattle-tale," Bel accused.

"Go ahead," Mel said. "She'll know soon enough anyway, but she can't stop us either."

"You know you don't want to give us up to Mum," Bel said slyly. "We have a hard enough time talking you into giving us up long enough to visit her."

"You must be livid at the thought of having to switch places with her."

"I thought this wasn't about your mother and I," he said wryly. "And your mother has just as much right to you two as I do."

"If you can use her against us, we can use her against you."

"Your mother would _not_ approve of this course of action," he said flatly. "We may not agree on much, but I know we'd agree on that."

"All the arguments we've used against you apply to her as well," Bel said in a bored tone.

"Do we really have to go over them again?"

Their father slouched forward in his seat and buried his face in his hands for a long moment. Bel and Mel said nothing, sensing that he was finally making his decision. Whatever came out of this would be his final position on the issue – it always was.

_Please say yes_ , Bel thought to herself. _Don't make us defy you …_

_Everyone else already hates us,_ Mel though. _Don't make us drive you that far too …_

"You've got two hours," he said at last, his voice thick and dead. "Two hours to get the Hell out of here to wherever it is you're going. Then I'm going to Impa." He looked up at Darunia, who had wisely decided to remain silent the entire time and narrowed his eyes. "She'll come looking for you."

"I can handle the Sage of Shadow," Darunia said. He met their father's eyes with his own and hoped the man could see the sympathy there.

It was hard letting your kids get themselves into dangerous situations …

It was hard not knowing what would happen to them, or if you'd ever see them again …

But it was hardest of all knowing that you can't stop them, and you can't help them, and no matter how much you love them, push come to shove, they're on their own, just like everyone else.

All you can do, is let them go, and pray with every fibre of your being that you've somehow managed to teach them what they need to know, not only to survive, but to triumph in the end.

***

"You've got ten seconds to tell me you can do this, old man, or I'm loading up the Elite and there are going to be a lot of dead Hylians in Castletown."

"Nabooru," Impa said disapprovingly, but Nabooru ignored her and kept her attention fixed on Sahasrahla. The old man remained unruffled.

"Magic like this isn't a simple matter," he responded calmly. "Given world enough and time, I could do it for sure."

"Given Rue, Thomas, and 24 hours?" Nabooru demanded. Sahasrahla raised an eyebrow.

"A combat-mage, an untested apprentice and a day?" He asked. "Do you have any idea the kind of power that would require? I would need runes, material components, divine intervention …"

"Fine. Follow me." She got up and left the room without waiting for a response. Sahasrahla muttered to himself as he got to his feet and he, Impa and Thomas followed Nabooru out the door. His complaints died on his lips, however, when the finally got to where they were going and Nabooru shoved the huge door open.

"Oh my," he said. "So _this_ is where it's been coming from." Thomas shifted his weight nervously.

"This looks like Agahnim's study," he whispered. "Only … worse, somehow."

"It's Ganondorf's," Nabooru said, an odd, dark note in her voice. "It's forbidden to everyone in the fortress but myself, Rue, and Link. Link wants nothing to do with the place. He won't even come down this corridor unless he has to. Rue and I have tried to … to cleanse it I guess, but it's just no good. If you want power, old man, this is where you'll find it."

He stepped cautiously into the room, but held up a hand when the others tried to follow him.

"No," he said. " "Just in case. You are right to forbid access to this room. There is … danger in here. Powerful black magic has been preformed in this room. It has left its mark." He took a moment to peer around, taking a mental inventory of the things he could see, his face as hard as stone. "Has Rue ever gone through these things?"

"Most of them are the tools of black magic and Rue refuses to deal in that," Nabooru said, sounding as though he had offended her with the suggestion that Rue would do otherwise. "And he may be king no longer, but Ganondorf _was_ a Gerudo thing. You do _not_ go through a Gerudo King's personal belongings. Especially not Ganondorf's," she added, quieter.

"Not all of it is black," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Most of it is, of course … or is at the least tainted by his magic … but some of it … perhaps I could …" He chanted a short phrase and raised his hand, leaving his eyes shut. He held his hand close to the shelves and slowly began to walk around the room, pausing every now and then to hover with his hand over something before moving on.

"Impa?" Thomas said quietly, pulling his eyes from the old mage. The Sage of Shadow turned to face him and looked at him expectantly. Thomas hesitated briefly. "Um … what are we doing? Why am I here?"

"Nabooru didn't tell you?" Impa asked, shifting her eyes over to the Sage of Spirit, who was watching Sahasrahla like a hawk.

"Uh … no," Thomas said. "She just kind of … appropriated me." Impa sighed.

"I'm sorry, Thomas. Her mind is elsewhere. She is … _we are_ concerned about Link," Impa explained. "And, perhaps more importantly, about what is going to happen if we do not find out what happened to Link."

"You mean what the Gerudo are going to do if we don't find out what happened."

"Precisely," Impa said. "Their King is missing. For all intents and purposes, it sounds as though he is dead. It _sounds_ as though Agahnim simply knew he was dying and so disintegrated them both through magic. Such things _are_ possible, if unlikely. I'm sure you understand enough of their people and their culture to realize the logical reaction they will have to this." Thomas winced.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "yeah, I'm pretty sure I do. You don't think he's actually dead, though, do you?" He looked concerned and Impa laid a hand on his shoulder.

"No, Thomas, I do not," she said. "If he was dead I would know. He is far too connected to the Sacred Realm and the Sages and the Triforce for his death to pass unnoticed by us. And this gives us hope."

"So … we're hoping that Sahasrahla will be able to find him for us?"

"We're hoping that Sahasrahla, Rue, and yourself will be able to not only find, but speak with him, wherever he is. It will take a direct order from Link to completely appease the Gerudo. Until we can get it, Nabooru can do little but stall, and her people are not a patient people."

"What do I have to do with it?" Thomas asked, looking surprised.

"You," said Sahasrahla from behind them, coming back out of the room at last, "are an essential ingredient in the locator spell I would like to try." Thomas and Impa turned to face the old Wiseman. In a crinkled hand he clutched a small, perfectly smooth green stone, shot through with flecks of gold. "Because of the complications involved in contacting someone in a world sealed off from our own, it will require three mages, in addition to requiring something close to the caster of the original sending, something close to the thing you are trying to locate, and something close to the place you suspect they were sent. Sometimes you can get away with only some of these requirements, but as I've said, what we are talking about is a complicated thing and I wouldn't risk going any less." Thomas' face took on the grey tinge it usually did when thinking about his time under Agahnim.

"I wasn't there when Link fought Agahnim," he said. "I—"

"Ah, ah, ah, my dear boy," said Sahasrahla. "I said someone close to the original _caster_. You spent more than enough time as Agahnim's right-hand-man to suffice for this purpose."

"Will Rue be the one close to Link?" Nabooru asked. Sahasrahla shook his head sadly.

"No," he said, "if Link is in fact trapped in the Dark World, then I fear we will not be able to locate him through this type of spell. Not yet, at any rate. Link – like almost everyone in the Dark World – is under far greater magical duress than you realize, and I would never be able to pierce that shell." Nabooru's face darkened.

"What are you talking about?" She demanded. "You told me you could find Link! What's this load of bull about not being able to—"

"He's right, Nabooru," Impa said softly, almost sadly. Nabooru stopped mid-rant and turned to look at her. The Sage of Shadow had a rare, far-away look in her eyes. "We've … I've tried it before. There's no … you can't pinpoint anything in there. There's so much magical energy … even if you could get through the Seals we've put up …" She closed her eyes and shook her head suddenly and came back to herself, immediately putting her Sheikah face back up.

"The, uh … the Sage of Shadow is correct," Sahasrahla said, drawing the confused gazes away from Impa, "except that she said 'anything' when she should have said 'any one.' Any person who goes in there is immediately put under the plane's spell – a spell on which my own knowledge is woefully ignorant, unfortunately – and it becomes impossible to make them the target of other spells. However certain items could _perhaps_ be tracked. If they had certain qualities…"

"What qualities?" Nabooru demanded impatiently "We haven't time for your dithering, old man. If you can do something for us then spit it out. We have a war to wage."

"If the item was a sacred thing – if it had something to do with the old Sacred Realm, or even the new Dark World. Then, perhaps, it would be immune to the magical effects of the Dark World and we could locate it."

"Well what good is—"

"And item, for example, like my magic mirror."

"But you gave that to—" Thomas' voice trailed off and he blinked in realization. "Oh," he said. "Oh, I get it."

"Get what?" Nabooru growled.

"I gave my mirror to Link," Sahasrahla explained. "I asked him to carry it with him. Once upon a time it would have been extraordinarily useful to someone in his position, before I unfortunately misplaced the Moon Pearl once set in it. It has very strong ties to the Sacred Realm, it was created in and of that place and it's powers are related – or were. It's essentially not much more useful than a very perceptive, brutally honest mirror right now but I thought, perhaps, he might find a use for it. And I believe we now have."

"You can track the mirror," Impa said, nodding slowly.

"Precisely."

"What if Link doesn't have it anymore?" Thomas asked.

"Oh he'll have it," Nabooru said, a crafty look in her eyes as she considered this. "He's a damn packrat. Never throws anything away, and with that blasted bottomless pouch of his he never really has to. The worst he'd do is shove it in there and forget he ever owned it." Sahasrahla looked momentarily scandalized.

"It's an artefact of immense power. You don't just _forget_ —"

"Sahasrahla," Impa interrupted wearily, "we're talking about a boy who doesn't own much _except_ artefacts of immense power. For Link, rare, impressive, awe-inspiring magic items are a mundane thing with which he interacts on a daily basis. He is far more impressed with simple things than with the impressive. I _assure_ you, he is _quite_ capable of forgetting he owns an artefact of immense power." Sahasrahla rubbed his head ruefully.

"He is certainly an … interesting Hero," he murmured. "But come, time is wasting. Let's find Rue and get down to some magic. The spell will take an hour or two to prepare."

"Um," Thomas piped up, "you all know I'm not really a mage, right?" He winced when they all turned to look at him. "I mean, I wasn't _really_ Agahnim's apprentice. He was just kind of … well, he was using me, remember? And all the other stuff I did … it wasn't really me, it was him."

"Agahnim would have had a much harder time using you as he did without some kind of talent running in you," Sahasrahla said kindly. "You've got the ability to work with magic, Thomas, and that's all we need for this. Just the talent. Rue and I have more than enough skill and experience to compensate." Thomas gave an uncertain nod and prayed the old man knew what he was talking about.

He wasn't quite sure he wanted to be anywhere near Nabooru if this didn't work …

"Then get on with it," Nabooru said impatiently. "I'll find Rue. Impa can take you to the room you asked for. We're running out of time." And she was gone as fast as that.

"You know," Sahasrahla observed, "I've lived more than my fair share of lifetimes, and it never ceases to amaze me how much things change. But the Gerudo … the Gerudo never really do."

"That," Impa said with a mild smile, "was before Link. The changes are subtle, but they are there." Sahasrahla raised an eyebrow. "For example," Impa said, "two Sheikah and a much disliked old man are wandering freely through Gerudo halls without an escort."

"And very much alive," Thomas added with a fervent nod. "Don't forget that." Sahasrahla blinked and laughed.

"I suppose it's true at that," he said. "But come, show me this room. I'd like to continue being very much alive if you take my meaning…."

The room itself was a simple thing. It was just a square shape and had been cleared out of all furniture and anything else that may have once been in there. No windows were visible on the walls. Sahasrahla hummed and hawed over it for a minute then sighed and started to roll up his sleeves.

"It'll have to do," he said. "Come on, son, let's get to work. How much did that old fogey teach you about runes?"

"Rune are symbols of power, drawn for the sake of guiding the magic along the channels required for the spell to work," Thomas said in a tone of voice that suggested he was quoting. "Different shapes can produce different effects, and some have more power than others."

"Good," said Sahasrahla. "Do you know much about the symbols available? The major ones, at any rate, as there are many." Thomas hesitated. "Come on, lad, spit it out," said Sahasrahla.

"I know a few of the shapes," Thomas said. "None of the complicated ones, just some of the basic ones. I know that the pentangle is one of the most powerful."

"Now that," said Sahasrahla, "is where he began to mislead you." Thomas fell silent and watched the old man expectantly. "A pentacle is a powerful symbol, he did not lie to you there. It's a symbol of infinity, among other things, and using it you can weave very powerful spells. But its weakness lies in its connection to the arcane instead of the divine. Some people don't see this as a weakness, of course, and it's not any kind of tangible weakness, merely a philosophical one. However sometimes a philosophical weakness is the most vulnerable of all."

"But … if not the pentangle …"

"Think, lad," Sahasrahla said. "What is the one symbol that could possible grant you greater power than the pentangle? The one Agahnim never taught you because he can't use it for his black magic." Thomas frowned in frustration.

"But if he never taught it to me, how am I supposed to…," he blinked. "You don't mean … it's not the triangle, is it?" Sahasrahla beamed at him.

"Good show, lad!" He said. "That's correct! All of the most powerful things in our world come in threes – three goddess, three Triforce pieces, three Sacred Jewels. The triangle represents this, consisting, as it does, of three threes – three lines, three angles, three points. Even the Triforce itself is three triangles united to form a larger triangle. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Sort of," Thomas said.

"Look at it this way: in the triangle, there is no room for anything but threes. It remains the perfect union of three threes. The pentangle, however, lacks this perfection. In adding to the three threes, it has managed to get itself, at most, four fives – five points, five angles, five lines, five intersections. It's unbalanced because it has taken into account elements besides the divine. The addition of two points into the symbol – points which can represent things that are earthly instead of divine, such as the self, or the caster's personal power – ruins the perfection of the whole symbol."

"You're saying it's bad to rely on your own power?" Thomas asked, eyebrows drawn down in a frown as he attempted to follow the complicated lesson.

"No," Sahasrahla said simply. "A part of magic is the fact that it comes from within, not from without. Whatever power a mage is granted is his and his alone. He is not tapping into some larger force as some have hypothesized. He is merely using what power exists within himself, and that is perfectly acceptable, and even admirable – but that power did not get there by itself. Magic is a gift from the Goddesses, after all. Sometimes it helps to tap directly into that in your spell weaving. If your magic came from the Goddesses, you may be better off allowing yourself to act as a conduit for their will, and this is where the triangle comes in."

"But … the Goddesses are gone. They've left the world, haven't they? That's what the Triforce is about."

"Perhaps," said Sahasrahla with a twinkle in his eye, "or perhaps that's just what they want you to think."

"What nonsense are you feeding the boy now?" Demanded a sour voice from behind them.

"My darling Rue, how pleasant it is to see you again!" Sahasrahla said, turning around. "You're just in time. Tell me, what do you feel is the most powerful of the magical runes?"

"The pentangle for raw power," Rue answered without hesitation. "Unless you are attempting something beyond your own power. Then you have no choice but to call on the Goddesses and should use the Triangle. Which, for the record, I believe this situation would fall under. I sincerely hope you weren't planning on a pentangle spell weave." She crossed her arms. "Also, I would like to state here and now that short of divine intervention what you are proposing is impossible." Her wrinkled face was not unlike a thunder cloud when you got right down to it, and Thomas was floored by Sahasrahla's ability to remain unfazed under her dark glower. She lowered her voice so that only Sahasrahla could hear it, but Thomas was close enough to pick up most of it. "And you'd better pray for divine intervention, old man, because I won't be the one to explain to Nabooru that what you've promised her can't be done."

"And that, m'dear, is why we're using the triangle," Sahasrahla said smoothly. "No better plea for divine intervention unless its prayer. Now, quickly, the sooner we get this done the better. Thomas will be acting as a conduit only, unfortunately. We haven't time to teach him the spell." He held out the little green rock he'd taken from Ganondorf's room. "You'll be our connection to the place. I am reasonably certain this little stone comes from there originally. It is, at least, the least tainted of the things I am reasonably certain came from there." Rue took the stone distrustfully, almost superstitiously. Thomas supposed he couldn't blame her. "You know the process involved in a locator spell, correct?" Rue gave him a scathing glance that said all it needed to. He took this in stride, as he did everything else, and moved over to one corner of the room.

"All right then," he said, "let's begin…"

***

##  **Chapter 15 (cont.)**

There used to be, deep down inside me, a place where I could go when things seemed hopeless and I would find strength there. A place right at the centre of me where the will to keep going came from. My heart of hearts you could say. I went there in a very real sense, once … seems like forever ago now. Sometimes I wonder if it was a dream, or if it was as real as it felt, or if it matters.

Sometimes, like now, it seems so far away I can barely remember it.

I can't even access it.

That deep-down part of me has disappeared. I can't find it. I can't draw off of it.

For the first time in my life, there is nothing inside me that's keeping me from turning tail and running hell-for-leather away from this place and this monster and this fight.

Nothing, of course, except the despairing thought that it's no better back where I came from. I'll just be running from one monster's gut, straight into another's maw.

There's no escaping it. There's no escaping this place. You don't have a choice between life and death, here. You're dead the instant you cross over. All you get to choose is where and when – if you're lucky.

If you're lucky.

And I have this sneaking suspicion that my luck comes from that part of me I can't access anymore.

We've been standing here for the last five minutes while I tremble and panic and try to get my head together. We're huddled behind a large chunk of wall that's still mostly intact – the rest of the structure of this part of the building haven't been torn down by the violent thing contained within it long ago. The Maeasm – with a capital "M" because anything that big deserves a capital – is asleep in the area behind our little wall. Anduriel assures me that it won't stay asleep for long, however, and I'm willing to bet any money that the damn thing's a light sleeper.

Anduriel is quiet, but she's giving me that look – that it's-not-you-it's-this-place-you-have-to-fight-it look, but it's not that easy.

Whether what I'm feeling is real, or just a figment manufactured by this goddess forsaken _Hell_ doesn't matter. The fact remains I'm feeling it.

There's this solid, unbending certainty that I'm about to die banging around inside my brain. I'm intuitive enough to know that Anduriel is right – that this feeling isn't mine – but I can't escape it anyway. I'm going to die, it tells me, unless I run away _right now_ and never come back. Maybe I can eek out an existence somehow. I can't be the only person here, I know I'm not. Maybe others have tried to live here, knowing they can't go back. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

There's a stirring in the room behind me – a massive rumbling as the monster rolls over and sighs in its sleep. My heart skips a beat in a sudden panic at the motion and the noise and I close my eyes tightly.

I haven't been this scared since I had to stand in line with the Moblins and watch Dark Link murder all those people in front of Zelda at Lon Lon Ranch years ago. I didn't even have my memories back then, how was I supposed to stand up under that? I was just a nobody-17-year-old-kid who'd gotten in over his head and once again overestimated his own abilities. And now who am I? I'm a somebody-21-year-old-man-who-wishes-he-was-a-nobody-17-year-old-kid-facing-down-Moblins-instead-of-giant-Maeasms.

I don't like this, I decide vehemently. I don't like this feeling. I don't like being afraid. I'm not used to it. Not like this.

This isn't fear, it's cowardice.

I'm being a coward.

This place is turning me into the one thing I thought I'd never be.

I'm the bearer of the Triforce of Courage, for Nayru's sake, it's not supposed to be like this!

I flex my hand, acutely aware of the glittering golden mark beneath my glove.

_Come on,_ I snarl at it. _Come on, you bastard. Work for me. I've carried you this long, prove to me it was worth it. It's your fault I'm here. It's your fault this place is such a mess. It's your fault that Anduriel's blind, and Kiki's a monkey, and I'm a goddess-damned monster. Make up for it. Call off your thrice damned Dark World and let me be me again. Or at least take the choice away. Don't let me run. Don't let me give into this. I need to rescue Laruto, I need to fight that monster, but I can't. I can't make myself do it. Make me do it. Force my hand._

_Make me be the Hero of Time again …_

And suddenly, my hand burns…

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Nabooru chewed absently at her lower lip as she stared at the three people sitting in a triangle on the floor, legs folded beneath them, ostensibly staring out at nothing. They'd been like this for the last hour. Every so often they'd gasp and come out of it, Rue would mutter an oath and they'd begin the spell again.

Nabooru knew she should just leave them to it, but she hadn't been able to make herself leave. This was important. They _had_ to know where Link was. If he was even okay. If they could confirm he was alive, it would keep the Elite sane for now. They'd know he'd disapprove of attacking Castletown and it might buy them some time to fend off the Moblins …

Impa was right about one thing; they couldn't afford a war on two fronts.

And Nabooru didn't want the Gerudo getting blamed for _another_ Great War.

So instead she'd switched the hall outside the room to a temporary command centre. When the Elite had reports or needed orders, they came to her here as they organized the defences. They were rapidly running out of time before the Moblins began their assaults. Scouting parties had reported the Moblin forces growing steadily still, and they had enough gathered now to begin organizing themselves. It wouldn't be long …

She shook her head and forced herself to look away from the mages (and one apprentice, she added to herself). She was going to chew her lip right off at this rate and that was the last thing she needed. She'd need her mouth intact to scream at Link if they actually managed to make contact. She opened her mouth to say something to Impa, but whatever it had been flew from her brain and she blinked instead. The Sage of Shadow had that far-away look again as she watched the spell going on in front of them. Nabooru raised an eyebrow then turned back to the spell, recalling what Impa had said the last time she'd had that look in her eyes …

She knew what Impa would think of her curiosity. Impa would tell her it was none of her business, that's what Impa would say.

But then … she _was_ a thief … and she had a particular affinity for things that weren't hers.

"So," she said nonchalantly – too nonchalantly. Impa immediately straightened and looked over at her, fixing her trademark piercing gaze on the younger woman. Nabooru remained undaunted and refused to return the gaze. "I suppose then the reason why you're so familiar with the ins and outs of contacting someone in the Dark World has to do with why it was Hunter who was captured and not you, hmm?" There was a pause that, though it only lasted a split second, was far too long for an Impa-pause.

"It was a long time ago," she replied crisply, in the it's-none-of-your-business tone that dominated about a quarter of all conversations between the two Sages, "and I do not consider it an issue today. Perhaps you should keep your mind on the situation at hand."

"If you've tried this before," Nabooru said, her eyes glinting craftily, "this has to do with the situation at hand. If you know someone in the Dark World, this has to do with the situation at hand. Maybe Link could get in touch with them – if he's got an ally in there already, he deserves to know." Impa was unconvinced.

"Nabooru," Impa said softly, "you've felt the Dark World, hovering on the edges of your awareness, pressing in on all sides when we're in the Sacred Realm. You tell me if anything in there will be an ally for Link." Nabooru decided she didn't really want to think about that at the moment, and changed tactics.

"This is hardly the time for secrets, Impa. The Moblins are beating down the door, and our Hero is trapped in a literally goddess-forsaken plane. If you know anything about the Dark World, we should hear it."

"All I know is what you know," Impa returned, her voice colder than ever. "Once upon a time it was the Sacred Realm. It was where your soul went to await reincarnation after you died. It was a golden realm and a wonderful place. Then Ganondorf happened, and suddenly it wasn't so golden. What goes in, doesn't come out again. I know you lost Sisters to the damnable place on the quest for the Triforce, I know Ganondorf dragged even more in there against their will. Suffice it to say that the Sheikah lost people too. We did what we could to contact them, but it was as Sahasrahla has said. We tried, we grieved, we moved on."

" _You_ lost someone, _you_ tried to contact him, _you_ grieved his loss, and _you_ moved on," Nabooru said simply, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me it was the Sheikah in general. It's written on your spirit." She gave the older woman a significant look. "And I am the Sage of Spirit."

"It's none of your business, Nabooru," Impa said flatly. "It's an old wound, nothing more."

"Hmm," Nabooru said, "but sometimes they hurt the worst, don't they?"

"Is there a reason you won't let this drop?" Impa demanded, her irritation showing through on her face at last. Nabooru gave her a look that was part-sulky-part-annoyed.

"I can't help it," she grumbled. "Ever since all this talk of the Dark World started up it's revived whatever this 'old wound' of yours is and it's a strong one. Every time I'm near you I can taste it. Sage of Shadow, you may be, Impa, but there are some things even you can't hide. Not from me." She met the older woman's gaze without flinching until at last Impa shook her head and turned her face back to the spell casters.

"Fine," she said simply. "His name was … Dashil. He was a Chosen Sheikah, like me. We joined at the same time – met when we were taking the tests required before you can join as a Chosen. We were both very young at the time, and we found a connection, I suppose you could call it, in our newness. The Sheikah care little for the differences between a Blood and a Chosen, except in certain circumstances, but we were still new and we found strength in each other. We trained together and were often sent on missions together. Our specialties complemented each other quite nicely. I've always had a knack for invisibility, but where I could blend into the shadows, Dashil could blend into the crowd. He was the best disguise artist I've ever _seen_ , in all my years training Sheikah. Half the time I couldn't even recognize him and he and I were … well, we were very close."

"You were lovers," Nabooru said bluntly, never one for beating around the bush. There was a pause.

"Eventually," Impa admitted.

"What happened?" Impa sighed heavily.

"We got wind finally that what Ganondorf was after was the Triforce. Dashil started obsessing over finding it first. Lost himself in his research, reading the prophecies and old texts. He eventually located one of the portals and found the way to activate it. He wanted me to go with him, but I had been offered the leadership of the Sheikah by that point, and I knew where my duties lay."

"And Dashil didn't," Nabooru finished.

"Dashil always worked off of his own definition of duty," Impa said, her lips turned down at the corners into the barest of frowns. "His methods were often … questionable. I didn't care at the time because I was young and in love, but …" She left the sentence hanging.

"So what happened then?" Nabooru asked. Impa gave a small shrug.

"Who knows?" She said. "He left for the portal. Activated it, entered it, and that was the last we heard of him. It wasn't long after that Ganondorf found his own way in, and, well … we all know who got to the Triforce first." There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Rue's soft oath as they came out of the spell again and once more immediately set to recasting it.

"When you started this story," Nabooru said quietly, "when you told me his name, you hesitated. Why?"

"Must you pick at everything?" Impa demanded. Nabooru made a face at her.

"If I am going to be tasting this wound of yours for the rest of our lives, I would at least like to know what I am eating." Impa made a disgruntled noise.

"Fine," she said tersely. "I hesitated because Dashil is his name, but I never called him that. I'm so used to his other name, that it took me a moment to remember his real name."

"What was his other name?" Nabooru asked. Impa hesitated for so long that Nabooru wondered if she was even going to answer, but finally she turned to the Sage of Spirit with a determined look on her face.

"I called him Bli—" But whatever the rest of his name was, Nabooru wasn't given the chance to find out. Before Impa could finish pronouncing it, something in the room exploded … without any sound. Impa and Nabooru were thrown backwards by an unseen force. Nabooru just managed to keep her head from bouncing off the wall (though the same couldn't be said of the rest of her), and didn't take the time to see how Impa had fared. Instead, she ripped herself in a circle to stare at the centre of the room, feet already spread in a battle stance, just in case.

But there was no enemy in the middle of the room. Instead there hovered a hazy, gold-tinged transparent vision of a small hand mirror.

"That's it!" Said Thomas excitedly. "I recognize it!"

"Careful, boy, don't lose your concentration," Rue said tensely. "I have no idea why it worked this time and I don't want to lose it now…"

"Why is it black?" Nabooru asked. "The glass is black."

"What we're seeing is a weak image of the mirror itself," Sahasrahla said, his eyes trained on the image. "Including its reflection. If it's black, it may mean that it is still in Link's pouch."

"Will we be able to speak with Link if he takes it out?" Impa asked, relieved more than she cared to admit that this latest development had finally gotten Nabooru off of her back.

"I doubt it," Sahasrahla said tersely. "I'm more than impressed we're getting as much as we are. Without the Moon Pearl we should technically only be getting a vague impression of location, little else … something is tapping into the Mirror's other powers … at least partially…"

"But what if—" Nabooru cut herself off as the image in the mirror's surface suddenly and violently shifted fast enough to give her a headache trying to keep up with it. She clenched her fists at the sight of a flash of green and a familiar pouch, but the next instant she was staring at an unfamiliar, and wholly alien face. Sahasrahla, on the other hand, appeared to recognize it.

"Anduriel," he gasped. "Is he the one…?"

"That's a _he_?" Thomas demanded. Whatever it was, it was making frantic negating gestures at the mirror.

"What does it want?" Impa murmured. "Should we cut off the spell?" But the next instant the scene shifted dizzyingly again as dust and rubble exploded into the scene and the angle tilted violently as the creature apparently dropped the mirror. They were looking up at a high stone ceiling for about two seconds before something huge and black blocked their site for a moment as it passed above the reflection.

"Cut off the spell," Nabooru hissed. "We're putting them in danger! Cut off the spell!"

"We have," Rue said with a dark frown as she pushed herself to her knees. "It wasn't our spell apparently."

"Then whose—" Again Nabooru cut herself off. The black thing had passed over the mirror and had been replaced with a frightened, bestial face that looked vaguely simian.

" _What_ the _Hell_ …"

The little monkey-like thing snatched up the mirror, causing the reflection shift again as the creature holding it scampered frantically over to a pile of rubble. For a moment all they could see was the piece of stone.

"Lift it higher," Thomas breathed. "We can't see…" The reflection didn't move higher, but it did shift to the side a bit, giving over three quarters of the surface to the battle taking place beyond the monkey's hiding place.

"Nayru, Farore and Din," Nabooru swore, staring in horror at the scene playing out in the reflection, "whoever they are, they're dead…"

"A Maeasm," Impa breathed, her eyes wide. "They're supposed to be extinct!"

"Don't look at me!" Nabooru cried. "It's not like we stashed it in the Dark World! And besides, that thing's the size of a house! Maeasm don't get that big!"

"Tell that to him," Thomas murmured. "What's on its face? Is that … a mask?" It was. A large blue mask, with slits for it's beady red eyes was perched on the monster's face.

"Where's Link?" Rue demanded. "I thought I saw… there!" The Hero of Time darted between the things legs, clutching what looked suspiciously like a bomb with a lit fuse. He twisted at the last possible second, screamed something they couldn't hear, and threw the bomb towards the Maeasm's head.

"He's alive," Nabooru breathed.

"Not for long," Impa said darkly. The bomb did nothing more than chip the mask decorating the Maeasm's head, and the thing turned on Link with a speed that belied its size. Link turned tail and bolted towards the mirror's location. He threw himself forward just as the Maeasm's tail slammed down into the ground where he had been. He hit the ground hard right in front of the mirror and covered his head with his hands, as though the futile gesture could somehow protect him from the stinger, already being raised once again to strike him down, but the next minute the creature they had first seen in the mirror had thrown itself at the thing's mask, leaping the impossible distance from the ground, fists ablaze in light.

"Oh Nayru," Sahasrahla said in a torn voice, "your wings … oh Anduriel, what's happened to you?"

"What is it?" Thomas asked. "Who is it?"

"It's a Makani," Sahasrahla said. Impa blinked.

"A Sentinel?" She asked, but any answer was lost as Link finally turned to face the mirror fully on his way back up to his feet. More than one person gave a sharp intake of breath.

The Hero of Time looked positively ragged. He was dangerously pale and his normally bright blue eyes has a dull, miserable quality to them. His tunic was scorched in some places and torn in others, and in more than one spot they could see bandages peeking through. Lines had appeared under his eyes, complete with dark circles and he looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. Where once the lines of his body had radiated defiant enthusiasm, now he looked like he was just barely hanging on.

"He's not even been gone two days yet," Nabooru whispered. "How could—"

"Two days in Hell," Rue said darkly, "is long enough."

*******

##  **Chapter 15 (cont.)**

I suppose I should take some level of comfort in the fact that even if I can't access my heart of hearts any more, and even if I'm trapped in Hell with a purple monkey for a best friend, and even if I'm once again fighting for my life against a beast right out of my nightmares, the Goddesses still love me as much as they always have.

Even if everything else changes, that never will.

I like how they think they're funny.

I'm busting a gut, here, girls. Really I am.

One minute, I'm lost in an internal monologue that's starting to make suicide look more and more like a viable option, and the next Anduriel is having a panic attack and violently relieving me of my mirror as though she's gone insane and starts hissing and shaking her head at it in some desperate attempt to do I-don't-know-what, but I bet you any money the burning in my hand had something to do with it.

Next thing I know the wall I'm hiding behind is no longer a wall so much as it's a pile of rubble, and I'm no longer trying to work myself up to fighting the giant, crazy Maeasm so much as I _am_ fighting the giant, crazy Maeasm, and Anduriel is _still_ screaming at Kiki something about the mirror, as though it _matters_ at this point more than the thing that is currently trying to murder us.

Something happened there, I still don't know what, but I know – _I just know_ – the goddesses are yukking it up over it right now.

Well I hope they like gratuitous violence because I'm about to be splattered all over the wall.

"Goddess _dammit_ ," I hiss, throwing myself to the side to dodge yet another slam of the giant stinger. I pull a bomb out of my pouch as I go and light the fuse.

Gotta get that mask off.

"Anduriel! Look sharp!" I call as I throw the bomb as hard as I can. She's balanced up on top of the thing's neck, occasionally trying to beat the living daylights out of the mask with her fists (which are, for some reason, glowing) when she's not trying to keep her balance. She reaches up and snatches the bomb out of the air, wedging it behind its mask and leaping off. "The stinger! Watch out!" I cry. It's no good … not even _she's_ fast enough to avoid it …

But my worry proves unnecessary. Before the stinger even gets close the bomb goes off, sending a chunk of mask flying through the air and crashing somewhere behind me. The explosion sets the Maeasm off balance and it's stinger slams into the ground far wide of its intended target. I breath a sigh of relief and throw myself towards it, hoping to duck and weave my way under its legs before it recovers its stinger.

It gives an angry, insectile screech that staggers me with its volume for a moment when it realizes that its targets have disappeared on it: Anduriel's once again perched on it's mask, above its eyes, and I'm dancing the tango of death with its legs as it skitters back and forth trying to find one of us. I pull another bomb out of my pouch as I dodge and twist and scramble to keep myself beneath it without getting stepped on. I briefly consider trying to hack at it with my sword, but Anduriel's right …

… from what I can see there's no way I'd get through the carapace on the damn thing. Even it's legs are covered in armour.

Din, I hate bug monsters.

Why couldn't it have been like … a giant leever, you know? At least that way, if I actually managed to kill it (a laughable prospect as I will be the first to admit I am the single, worst leever hunter at the fortress) the girls back home would _have_ to love me, since I'd essentially have brought them enough damn _plant_ to keep them fed for a year.

On the upside, I'm too busy fighting for my life to run for it. Or even fear for it. The complicated process of digging out/lighting/chucking bombs and dodging/tumbling/running from the legs of the monster is keeping me kind of preoccupied.

I wince as the thing screams again, but force myself into a dead run straight ahead. Can't chuck the bomb from under here. Have to get back out in the open.

The thing screams triumphantly when it sees me and I can already see its tail whipping down at me at lightning speed. I jump to the side and throw the bomb as hard as I can as I go. Anduriel's too far to catch it, but it doesn't matter. I've held on to it for long enough that its fuse is almost up and it explodes right in front of the damn thing's face. It screams, in pain this time, and flails wildly with its pincers.

Now … maybe I can dodge the stinger (though just barely), even though it's my size. It's still the smallest thing on there.

Trying to dodge the pincer coming at my right now, though … it's kinda like trying to dodge a barn that someone's picked up and thrown at you. It doesn't matter how fast, or how much warning you've had, you're not getting away from that.

So I just brace myself for the impact and remain relatively unsurprised to find myself seeing stars and in mid-air …

… and then abruptly not so in mid air. I grind to a halt against a large chunk of the thing's mask and just gasp frantically for air for a moment. When the black circle threatening my vision finally abates somewhat, I realize with a sudden, sick feeling that the Maeasm – half of its mask missing now, revealing an ugly, half-formed mass of black flesh beneath it and around the burning eyes – is headed straight for me, screaming it's insectile scream of rage as it comes. Anduriel is no longer riding it. I can see her, rushing beneath the Maeasm's legs, trying to get to me before it does.

Something inside me – I've no doubt as to what – responds to the Maeasm's furious scream with one of its own and I'm pushing myself to my feet without fully realizing it, and faster than I would have thought possible, but not even the Beast will be strong enough to save me now.

I can see the tail snapping down at me, and I'm hemmed in with rubble. I can't dodge it this time. The Beast snarls with my mouth at this unexpected end and tenses as though it means to try anyway, but I push it to the back of my mind with a snarl of my own.

If I'm going to die, I'll be _damned_ if I do it with that _thing_ in charge.

I clench my fists and force myself to look my death straight in the face …

… and find that death looks a lot like the back of Anduriel's head.

She's darted between me and the stinger and is glowing golden as she raises her hands and catches the stinger. Her arms tremble and she gasps in pain at the impact, but it only pushes her back a little ways.

"Go, Link!" She gasps, her voice laced with a sudden, tense pain. "Up the tail. Aim for the crystal … I can't hold it … much longer…"

I don't need to be told twice. I've just spotted the crystal she's talking about – a little white speck, barely visible in the center of the ugly flesh – and immediately recognized it as a weak point with a professional dungeon crawler's eye.

I move past Anduriel and leap up onto the stinger, scrambling on all fours up the segmented tail, using it's own armour for hand and footholds. I can feel it shudder beneath me and the Maeasm is screaming in rage at its inability to free itself. I can feel it strain to pull its tail free of whatever hold the rapidly weakening _makani_ has on it. Something gives, and time slows down.

I throw myself off of it and into a leap just in time.

The Maeasm rips its tail free and it whips back over its head. It plunges back down at Anduriel almost before it's even fully returned to its starting point.

I draw the Master Sword, mid-leap, and blue fire immediately erupts from the blade as I reverse my grip, blade-pointed down.

Anduriel's glow fades and her knees buckle as she starts to fall to the ground. The Maeasm moves in for the kill.

I get there first.

I only just tap the crystal, the point of my sword barely touching it, but the effect is instantaneous.

Blue fire explodes from the crystal, ripping over and through the Maeasm, burning through unformed flesh and carapace alike.

It screams an inhuman scream of pain and desperation and fear, and the beast within me sings at the sound of it.

For half an instant I hang where the Maeasm used to be, staring at the gleaming white crystal – which is no longer a crystal but is in fact a little girl – then she, what's left of the mask, and I all fall to the ground and Time speeds back up.

I hit the ground hard, just barely managing to keep my feet, but it doesn't matter because I caught her before she hit, her impact knocking me backwards onto my backside near the fallen _makani_ who is struggling into a seated position.

Laruto throws her little arms around my neck shakes and trembles, but I've got her now, and suddenly nothing else matters because she's crying and clutching me in a three-year-old death-grip, and I can't breathe but I don't care.

This must be what a parent feels like when their kid is finally born. The thing is screaming blue murder, it's terrified, probably in pain, lost and confused, and in just about the most wretched state any being could ever be in, and for you it's the most beautiful sound in the world.

Why? Because it means they're alive, that's why. Whatever state they're in, however miserable, however hurt … they're alive, and that's what counts.

I clutch her back, just as tightly, and let her cry.

I did it.

She's safe.

She's all right.

Everything is all right.

Anduriel squeezes my shoulder weakly and offers me a happy smile. Kiki pulls on her tunic and looks at her in concern, still clutching my mirror. I blink down at it, having forgotten about it in the heat of the battle. I look back up at Anduriel.

"Once she calms down," I say, nodding my head at the sobbing girl in my arms, "you're going to have to tell me exactly what happened there." Anduriel raises an eyebrow.

"You don't know?" She asks. "You didn't feel it?"

"All I felt," I tell her, "was a wall coming down on my head."

"Hmm," she says. "That's very … interesting."

I consider commenting, but Laruto's making doing anything very difficult so instead I just lean back against the rubble and wait for her to cry herself out.

***

"So … I'm going to assume, here, that the maidens are immune to the Dark World?"

The questions not so much whether or not they are. Obviously they are. Laruto is chasing Kiki around the cave with that stumbling walk all three year olds have. If she can get close enough when he's not watching, she'll pull his tail and go into a giggle fit when he screeches and scampers away from her again. She's obviously not feeling the negativity of this place pressing in on her from all angles.

No, the question was more of a why.

Anduriel nods. "Because of their unique situations – particularly the blood of the Sages – they are immune for the most part from this place. The more levels on which they are pure, of course, the better off they'll be. Laruto here is just about as pure as they come – most children are. So long as she doesn't see anything that will make her unhappy, this place can't really touch her." I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good," I say. Partly because I'd hate for Laruto to have to deal with that, and partly because I've already started to plan out my next steps. If I can get to Hunter or Neesha or Zelda this will be a lot easier if they aren't subjected to the same kind of change that I am, and the same kind of moods. I make a face. They're likely going to have to free the rest without a lot of help from me since I'm out of commission every night …

But at least there's hope.

The fact that Laruto is running around this cave, giggling and playing happily attests to that. She still wants her mum and dad, but for now she's content with a familiar face.

"Unk-ink! Unk-ink!" She says, using the name she's been using for me since she was old enough to talk. She's quite capable now of saying "Uncle Link" if she really wants to, but she rarely wants to. She toddles over to me and drapes herself over my knee, holding up a little blue hand. In it she's got a little tuft of blue fur. "Blue!" She says, and giggles.

"Purples!" Kiki cries from the back, sounding as wounded and offended as I've ever heard him sound. "Kiki is being purples!"

"Blue!" She insists. I grin at her and pull her up into my lap.

"Whatever you want it to be, kiddo, that's what it is," I tell her. Anduriel clears her throat. I look up and meet her gaze and resist the urge to wince.

Oh. Yeah. Right.

I sigh heavily and turn back down to Laruto. She's picked up on the sudden change in my mood and is peering up at me intently. Her eyes are shaped like Ruto's, but their colour is all Acqul's … constantly shifting from blue to green and back again depending on the light.

"All right, kiddo, I've got to get going," I say. Her mouth turns down into a frown and I can _see_ the temper tantrum forming behind her eyes. "Hey, now," I say sternly, "none of that. I'm not your papa, kid, I'm not falling for that kind of stuff and you know it." She thinks about it for a moment, and opts instead for sticking her lower lip out in a pout and sniffling. "You're going to stay with Anduriel, okay? With Anduriel and Kiki."

"Why can't _you_ stay?" She demands, pouting further.

"I … have something to do," I sort-of-lie. "Besides, I need to find the … hmm … the _road_ back to your mum and dad. You _do_ want to go home don't you?" She sniffles again, but this time it's for real.

"Yes," she says.

"Well, then I need you stay here, while I go find the way home." I poke her nose and she scrunches it in surprise. "I'll come back for you once I've found it, all right? Be good, because if you're not I'll hear about it, and I'll tell your papa, and you know he doesn't like it when you misbehave." She scrunches her nose further.

"Tattle-tale!" She accuses me, crossing her arms in a huff.

"You bet your boots, I am," I say. "I mean it, Laruto. Be good. Promise me."

She sulks.

"Laruto…"

"Fine," she grumbles. "I promise."

"Good," I say. "Listen to Anduriel. She'll keep you safe for me, all right?" She nods and her lower lip trembles. "Hey, come on," I say, "don't cry."

"I can't … help it," she hiccups. "I want … to go … home." Tears start to spill down her cheeks. "I want my … my mama … and … and …"

"Your papa, I know," I said with a sigh, getting to my feet and taking her with me. "I'll get you home, kid. I promise, all right? Have I ever let you down before?" I hand her off with some reluctance to Anduriel, and feel a brief stab of paranoia.

Can I really trust Anduriel?

I've only known her for what … two days?

But before the thought has even fully processed I know the answer: what other choice do I have?

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" I ask her, eyeing her closely. "You're not … well … to be blunt, you look worse than ever." She does. She's paler than before and when she picked herself up off the ground back at the fortress there was more than one feather left on the ground behind her. She's walking with a tired, weary effort.

"Now that that monster is gone?" She asks. "I'll be fine. I just … I overextended myself back there. Used up too much energy. I need to rest and I'll be fine." I narrow my eyes at her.

"I don't believe you." She meets my gaze and shrugs.

"Then you don't believe me," she says. "What will come will come, but now you need to go. If, in the morning, you are still close, then return here. If, however, you're too far, do not waste time in tracking back. You'll only have to cover the same ground over again, and your time is limited to the days." Her face takes on a concerned look. "I do wish you would wait before beginning this mission." I frown and look away.

"I can't," I say. "Not with Laruto here. I can't … if I hurt her …"

"I cannot dissuade you," Anduriel says. "Be careful, and be wary of the Beast in the day. Do not let it take you or all is lost."

"Believe me, I know," I say. I lean down so my forehead is near Laruto. "Give me a kiss for good luck," I tell her. "I'll take it respectfully and everything." My grin fools Laruto at least, and she giggles and kisses my forehead. I poke her nose again and turn towards the cave entrance.

"See you in a few days, hopefully. Be good, squirt."

"I'm not a squirt!"

"Link, there is something else," Anduriel says. I pause at the cave mouth and turn to face her, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes have that this-is-important look. "Be mindful of the Triforce. When the Maeasm came after us … it was the Triforce that woke it. It took advantage of the fact that someone was trying to contact the mirror and forged a connection where their magic could not. That's what woke up the monster and brought it down on top of us." I blink in surprise and look down at my hand.

So when it burned …

"But … it's never … well, just that once, back when I first met my parents, but …"

"That was there, Link," Anduriel says. "This is its home. It has more power here than you're aware of, but it's power is unbalanced. It's missing it's compatriot parts. Be wary of it. Be careful in your handling of it." I pull my eyes up from my hand and nod.

"All right," I say. "Thanks for the tip." I turn around and walk out of the cave mouth. Behind me I can hear Laruto start to cry. I force myself to ignore it and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I can't see the sun for the clouds that are permanently roiling in the sky, but somehow, I know … it's starting to set.

I pick up my pace. I need to get as far away from here as possible before it goes down, and the Beast gets loose. Far enough away that it won't double back.

Anduriel's hiding just how much pain I know she's in. She's hurt herself badly helping me against the Maeasm and I feel guilty about it. At least she'll be free of me for a while. I'm not there to keep making things worse for her.

I want to plan out my next move, maybe figure out which direction to head, but it doesn't matter. The Beast will go where it wants and there's no telling where I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning.

There will be water if the Goddess wills it, or so the Gerudo say.

Nothing to do now, but keep pushing ahead…

… and hope that nothing pushes back.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Leave me _be_!" He snarled. "Haunt someone else!" The transparent face remained angry and undaunted. She walked over in front of him and glared silently, damning him with her accusing gaze. There had once been a time – before he'd been given the damn crystal – when he'd pitied her in a way he hadn't in a long, long time. It had taken him a while to recognize her – the last he'd seen her she'd been a bright-eyed teenager with gorgeous wavy ebony locks. Her ghost was an adult, though still young … painfully young to have died. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five at the most. Her transparent face was gaunt and the ghost of her eyes was bright with what had evidently been a fever. Or a poison. It was hard to tell which. Not all of the casualties of the Great War had died on the battlefield. Her hair was thin, now, and had lost its shine and most of its wave, plastered to her face, instead, as it must have been when she'd died.

So yes, he had pitied her. The calm, clever girl he'd known by face and name, if not on a personal level from the Sheikah Caverns. He thought he might have attended her _Quisros_ , though there was no way to know for sure. His memories of that time grew further and further away from him every day.

She moved again, lifting a thin, pale hand and pointing at the center of his chest, where the crystal hung suspended from a chain. Her lips twisted into a scowl when he didn't move.

"This isn't my fault," he snarled at her. "Why must you insist on following me like this? Leave before he gets back and _makes_ you leave." But still she pointed and glared and damned him. She didn't care, that was the problem with ghosts. Most of the time they were nothing more than a nuisance for those who could see them. They weren't even aware of you, too busy reliving their deaths as they had since the moment they'd died. But every now and then you'd get one with a purpose, or you would unwittingly snap one out of its unwitting stupor, and he'd had the unfortunate luck to do just that with this one.

And she was stubborn.

"And don't look at me like that. I _said_ it's not my fault. It has to be done, and that's all there is to it." Angry tears began to fall down her cheeks, just as transparent as the rest of her. She pointed again, practically begging him now, and _still_ damning him with her eyes. "Dammit, Aeria! _Go away_!"

And as though his words had been a command, she did. She disappeared with a violent twist of her form and an agonized wail at last piercing through the silence she'd maintained. He hissed and whirled around, meeting the red-eyed gaze of the creature behind him almost guiltily.

"Why did you not merely dismiss her?" It demanded in a voice as cold as steel. "I've given you the power to do so."

"She wasn't … she wasn't bothering me _that_ much," he lied.

"I have tasked you with protecting that crystal," it said flatly. "She is a distraction from that. Do not suffer her pleas."

"Y-yes, of course Master," he said with a slight bow. "I … will be harsher with her in the future."

"Good," it said, it's tone never changing. "Now ready the people. The Triforce of Courage works its way here and I would be ready for it. Ganon will be displeased to learn that we have lost the first maiden. We will not lose another." He winced.

"M-master … the sun is still out. I can't … you know I…" But the creature was already gone in a rustle of leather wings and black armour. He hesitated, but knew that if he had an order he was best to fulfill it. Maybe he could rouse them from his balcony … stay in the shadows…

He'd find a way. He didn't have much other choice.

_The Triforce of Courage_ , he mused to himself as he walked towards the room's door. _That means the Hero of Time is coming …_. He picked up his pace a bit, a small, sickly bloom of hope suddenly surfacing valiantly in his heart.

_Perhaps I may yet find an end …_

He thought briefly of Aeria, forced to live the circumstances of her death for the rest of eternity in this Hell, but fastidiously put the thought out of his mind.

Anything was better than this… anything. Why?

Because it had to be.


	16. Don't Forget to Laugh While You're Doing It

#  **Chapter 16 and a Brief Interlude**

_"Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice,  
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here of our own device.'  
And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast,  
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast.  
Next thing I remember, I was running for the door,  
I had to find a passage back to the place I was before:  
'Relax', said the night-man, 'we are programmed to receive,  
You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.'"  
_The Eagles, "Hotel California"

" _Afterward, the seven hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait … wait to die … wait to live … wait for an absolution that would never come…"  
_ Rose, "Titanic"

##  **Chapter 16**

I suppose I should no longer be surprised by the sudden shift from blinding pain at twilight, to groggy dull aches at dawn. I force my eyes open and stare blearily out through thick brownish green undergrowth, flecked here and there with red, trying valiantly to blink things back into focus.

It's cold out. The undergrowth ripples with a stiff breeze that feels more like fall than anything else. I numbly move my hand to rub at my face. Looks like the seasons are about as stationary here as everything else, and I mean that as sarcastically as I can possibly mean that.

Fall is a good season for this place though. Everything here is in a constant state of dying, with no hope of any kind of actual end in sight.

It's a dreary, depressing thought, and I'm not sure I want to explore it much deeper than that at the moment.

I push myself to my knees with a groan, swaying for a moment as a wave of dizziness hits me. On the upside, I don't seem to be in too rough of a shape. A cut on my arm, a sting in my cheek, but otherwise whole and intact. I cast a look around at my surroundings.

Now if only I knew where I was, or how far from Anduriel's …

 _At least they're safe_ , I tell myself, trying to bolster my spirits as I climb to my feet, _at least Laruto is safe. Just think about how happy Acqul and Ruto will be. Ruto will probably cry like a baby and strangle Laruto to death with her hugs, and Acqul probably won't be so tough about it either. All I gotta do is find a portal back, that's all. Simple enough. Just find a portal._

_In this area I know nothing about …_

_On this plane I know nothing about …_

_And then somehow get Laruto to it without turning into a monster and devouring her piecemeal …_ I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose, forcing my thoughts away from the image.

_Just find a portal. Deal with the rest as it comes._

It's as good a plan as I come up with at this point, anyway, so I may as well go with it. It can be number one on my to-do list:

One, find a portal, get Laruto through it.

Two, free the maidens, either get them home or enlist their help.

Three, ruin Ganon's plans for world domination yet again, and don't forget to laugh while you're doing it. He loves that.

Easy enough. All I need to do is get started.

I fidget and look around again.

The only question now is, which way? My surroundings offer no answer. I'm surrounded by a thick ring of trees – trunks so dark they're almost black, twisted around themselves and each other, but at least they don't have faces. The part of me that is, and will always _be_ Kokiri twists in pain at how tortured they look, but at least they're tortured _trees_ and not some weird hybrid of trees and people which is wrong on more levels than I care to count.

There's no way of even really telling which way is north, not that the information would serve me at all. Great, so I know where north, south, east and west are. Still don't know where I'm going, or what I'm going to do when I get there.

"Farore," I say with a sigh, scratching my head. "What the _Hell_ am I supposed to—?" Something moves out of the corner of my eye and I cut myself off and twist to face it, but it's gone again. I freeze and scan the trees for any sight of whatever it was. "Hello?" I call. "Is anyone out—"

There it is again. I twist back around but as before there's nothing to be seen. I make a face. "What the Hell?" A sound, behind me, like a voice from far away. I whirl around again but there's still nothing here. I grind my teeth together in irritation.

"You'd better just show yourself, whoever you are," I growl, "because I'm _not_ in the mood for games." The motion behind me again, but instead of turning to look I mutter darkly to myself and reach into my pouch. "You wanna play games, you bastard?" I grumble. "We'll see how much fun you're having once I can actually see you." It takes me a moment of rummaging – haven't used the damn thing in forever, almost forgot I had it as a matter of fact – but eventually I manage to triumphantly extricate the object I'm looking for from the pouch and flip it around in an unnecessary display of dexterity so I'm gripping it's "handle" in my hand. "You see this?" I call, holding up the creepy looking tool for whatever it is to see. "It's a Sheikan artefact. They call it the Lens of Truth, you know why?" I turn slowly, waiting to see if it appears. "Because when I turn it on, whatever cloaking spell or device you're using will be worth less than sanity in this miserable place. I'm giving you a chance, here, to show yourself before I _make_ you show yourself. What happens after that…" I shrug nonchalantly. "Who knows?" There's the motion again, but as per usual, there's nothing there when I turn around.

"Fine," I say flatly. "I gave you your chance." I hold up the Lens and open myself up to its power, letting it draw off my own to activate it. A brief series of ever quickening flashes erupts from the lens until they've steadied into a solid glow. The world takes on a bit of a haze as the tangible parts of it blur, just slightly, and everything else comes into sharper focus.

And there's a lot more than I thought I'd see.

I stumble back a step in shock.

Wandering in and out of the trees (sometimes in a very literal fashion) are several transparent spectres. They don't appear to notice me at all, and haven't acknowledged my startled gasp. They're faces are in different stages of panic and they stumble about in an almost desperate fashion, as though they're lost.

But worse yet … I recognize two of them, from a long time ago, back when I still thought I was a Kokiri – a Goron and the Hylian (thought I suppose he could be a non-uniformed Sheikah).

When I was about eight or so they'd come through Kokiri's Village and made a general nuisance of themselves. They'd bragged about how they were going to beat the Lost Woods, and how they were the greatest explorers ever. They'd gotten it into their heads that there was some kind of treasure to be had if you could find it and they were going to be the ones to find it. We tried to warn them off, like we did with everyone who wandered into the woods, either on purpose or by accident, but they wouldn't listen. They never do. How many adults do you know take seriously warnings delivered from children? So off they went and we never saw them again.

The Lost Woods protect themselves, and they protect the Kokiri, and part of that protection involves the fierce deterrence of any interlopers. Outsiders are not welcome without specific exemptions, and those two hadn't even bothered to present themselves to the Great Deku Tree, let alone ask permission to traipse through the Woods. Most of the people who go in manage to find themselves a Lost Door out (or more appropriately are given the option). Of those, a lot of them are arrogant enough to ignore the options. What happens to them after that is up to the Lost Woods. In general, they disappear. It's been suggested that unless you know how to navigate it – and the simple fact of the matter is that unless you're a Kokiri, or an exception like myself you can't possibly know how to navigate it – you could wander in the Lost Woods forever, assuming you weren't eaten by a Wolfos, or attacked by an angry Skull Kid, or any of the other dangers of the Woods.

But no one lives forever, and with a startling burst of clarity I realize that what I'm seeing are ghosts. The ghosts of those men (and others) who wandered into the Lost Woods that day. They never did make it out. Stalchildren don't need souls, just bodies, and this must be where they wound up after they'd died … I suppose it makes sense, this _was_ the Sacred Realm …

As I stare at them I realize that they're still lost … they've likely been wandering through these Goddess forsaken woods since the day they die.

I'm move to shout out at them, to try to get their attention, but the next instant another transparent (nearly invisible as a matter of fact) face imposes itself in my view, close up, and I cry out in surprise instead, stumbling backwards frantically. The two wanderers still don't react, but this new spectre is staring straight at me – she can _see_ me – her face soaked in weary tears, hands clasped in a pleading gesture in front of her. She moves towards me and I back up hastily, but I hit a root with my heel and fall to the ground with a gasp, losing my grip on the Lens of Truth. The spectres disappear and the haze leaves the world.

"Nayru, Farore, and Din," I whisper weakly, not bothering to pick myself up. "What the Hell is going on?" I close my eyes and behind my eyelids I can still see her. She looked … miserable. Weak, and sickly, and miserable. She looks familiar, somehow, too. Something in her face …

I gasp again, my eyes snapping open.

No.

There's no way.

She can't be …

I scramble back up to my hands and knees. The motion at the corner of my sight is back, faster and more frantic this time. I hurriedly scan the ground for the Lens of Truth, wracking my memory for some confirmation or denial of my suspicions.

Bruiser had a painting … Hunter showed it to me once, when he was out … said Bruiser kept it hidden because it still hurt him sometimes to look at it, and Bruiser had always been a private man. Hunter was less affected, though … he'd been so young when she'd died he didn't really remember her. He just liked to look at the painting and know that she'd existed ….

But she'd died in the Sheikah Caverns, not here.

What's she doing all the way out here?

I snatch the Lens out from under a bush and frantically brush the dirt off of it.

"No way," I mutter, grabbing its handle and opening myself up to it. "There's no way." The Lens flashes again, and this time the woman is waiting when the haze sets in. She meets my gaze through her tears and tilts her head in an unspoken question. I shake my head slowly, trying to digest exactly what is I'm seeing.

Her cheeks are gaunter, her hair flatter, and she looks how she must have when she died – a pale shadow, really, of the woman in the painting. I feel my heart clench, suddenly, at the thought of what Bruiser must have gone through when she died – even what she, herself, must have gone through. I can just barely hear her crying, still like it's from far away.

"What is it?" I whisper. "What do you want?" She gestures, clutches at something around her neck – but there's nothing there. I shake my head. "I don't understand," I tell her. "Can't you speak?" She answers by making the gesture again. I try a different tack. "Are you Aeria? Aeria of the Sheikah?" Her eyes flicker briefly with something that might be recognition, but that's all. She makes the gesture again and then points to her left. I look and see nothing but more trees. "You are, aren't you?" I ask her, still not understanding what she wants. "You're Hunter's mum." That gets a reaction from her. Her eyes brighten and she makes the gesture again, more enthusiastically, then points once more to her left. I feel my breath leave me in a rush.

"This has something to do with Hunter, doesn't it? That's what you're trying to tell me? Hunter is that way?" I point in the same direction she had been. Her face lights up and an expression of such passionate relief overtakes her that I feel a weight I hadn't notice lift from my chest. She makes the gesture again, which I still don't understand, but I think I've got enough.

"All right," I say. "All right, I'll go that way. Thank you." She smiles at me through her tear-stained face and vanishes. I release my hold on the Lens of Truth and shove it back into my pouch.

Finally, something has gone—

"Damn straight you're going that way," says a cold voice from behind me. I whirl around again, my hand rocketing over my shoulder for the Master Sword – I know a threat when I hear one. "But not for whatever reason you think you are." I freeze before I draw the sword. There's an arrow pointed straight at me at point-blank range. I'd never get it out in time.

 _Check him out_ , says a snide, mocking voice inside my head, _how come he's so special he gets to be normal, huh? That's what I want to know._

"I don't care why he's normal," growls the original speaker, who's face is buried beneath the shadows of his cowl, "all I care about is that the Cleric wants him. And what the Cleric wants, he gets." I eye him coolly.

"And who, might I ask, is the Cleric?" I say flatly. "Because you can tell him I don't appreciate invitations delivered at arrow point."

 _Who's the Cleric!_ The mental voice starts laughing hysterically. _Get a load of this kid, will you? Who's the Cleric! Ah ha ha ha ha—_

"Shut up," snaps the original speaker. I frown and cast a wary glance around.

"Where is that voice—"

"The bow, kid, he's the bow," snaps the speaker. "Now be a nice little freak and let go of that pretty little toy of yours and put your hands over your head."

"Why don't you take off that cowl and we'll see who the freak is," I respond flatly, not moving a muscle.

"I'm losing my patience," he hisses. "The Cleric wants you alive but I haven't eaten all day and you're starting to look good, so why don't you just—" He never gets to finish his request, because in that instant I've dropped to a hand and lashed out at his ankles with a foot. He fires the bow as he falls – the arrow flying _well_ over my head – and starts swearing before he's hit the ground, which is fine, because I'm on top of him the _instant_ he hits the ground and it's all downhill for him from there.

I rip the bow out of his hands, ignoring it's frantic, frightened screams as I take it and crack it against a tree as hard as I can. I don't break it right in half, but I come close and it's frightened screams turn into miserable wails.

 _I'm broken!_ It cries. _Oh no! I'm broken! Who's going to fix me!_

The other guy is trying to get to his feet, but before he even manages to get fully into a seated position he's staring at the tip of the Master Sword and I glower angrily at him from over its edge.

"Let's play a new game," I say flatly, dangerously, "it's called, tell me what I want to know and I don't smash your face in." I narrow my eyes. "And I assure you I'm not as 'normal' as I may look."

*******

So apparently the Dark World is not limited in its choices of alternate forms to animalistic ones. Even though Kiki is a monkey, and I'm some type of animal at night, those two were different. The one was a weapon, and the other yet another mythological creature – a vampire this time. One more thing that's not supposed to exist, and I don't even want to know what the guy did back in the real world to deserve that form here. Maybe it's the beast in me, but I didn't feel bad at all taking his cloak and leaving him to moan and cover his exposed face from what little bit of sunlight manages to sift down through the foliage in those woods.

Those woods which correspond – if I'm not mistaken – with the approximate location of the Lost Woods in Hyrule. As does the town they claimed I'd find an hour or two in the direction that Aeria's ghost had wanted me to travel – and in the same direction and approximate distance you'd find Kakariko if you walked from the Lost Woods to the little village.

And that's not all they had to say. Apparently Hyrule isn't the only place where I'm a wanted man. Somehow, without ever having been here, this little town is out for my blood as well. There aren't even any charges or accusations: just the edict of some man known only as the Cleric. He's labelled me the Apostate and has demanded that I be brought before him alive so that I can face the God I've offended so horribly.

I've been called a lot of things in my life, but Apostate is new.

And last I heard there were no Gods here in the Dark World. No "God"s, period.

Everybody knows that the deities are feminine.

I am very interested, indeed, in meeting this Cleric and telling him exactly what I think of him and his religion. He's been promising the people in this town redemption if they follow him and worship his God. The two back in the woods believed it at least. Claimed they've seen it with their own eyes. I told them flat out that they were being idiots. I haven't been here a week yet and I know that there's no truth in this place. Not if it gives you hope. Whoever this Cleric is, he's a fool and a pawn at best, and a charlatan and a con at worst. They both stopped talking to me at that point so I just let them go.

They didn't know anything about Hunter, either, which didn't make me any happier.

I reach up and pull the cowl of my stolen cloak lower over my eyes. The vampire and the bow weren't much of a threat. I think it was pure luck they happened upon me as they did, and I get the distinct impression the vampire isn't of much use in the day. At night he may be tougher, but then, who cares?

So am I.

The rest of the village, though …

As near as I can figure it, most of the people (or the things that _used_ to be people) here in the Dark World are ex-adventurers and explorers of one type or another. Although some of them likely stumbled in here practically by accident before the seals went up, most of them came in here seeking the Triforce, and they're the ones I need to worry about. They'll have some kind of combat experience if nothing else and that could be a problem. They're also the ones who would have had the survival sense to form a group and stay in one place to fortify their position. It'll be impossible to tell until I see the place and the people, but I'm going to have to be very, very careful.

I've also decided that I _need_ to get in to see the Cleric. I _have_ to. I don't believe for a second he's any kind of real priest, but if he really does have a way to get people back to Hyrule, or to change them back into their original form like the two back in the woods said … maybe he's hiding a portal, or maybe he's just a tricky old mage, but one way or another, I need to know for sure.

It's a long walk, but there's nothing for it. It'll probably take me 'till midday, and that doesn't leave me much time before the sun goes down to find anything out. Maybe I'll just check the place out today, and then hide in the woods until tomorrow morning. I can't let the beast get loose in a town, no matter how awful the people who live there might be.

Maybe I can—

"Hey!" The voice cuts through my reverie and I grind my teeth. I haven't got time for this. I slow to a stop and cast a wary look back over my shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

For Nayru's sake, is _everyone_ in the Dark World a highway robber?

The woman behind me appears to be some kind of anthropomorphic rodent of some kind, with an elongated mouth and nose, and beady little black eyes. Judging by her tone and posture, I'm going to guess she's supposed to be a shrew. Of particular prominence in her shabby attire is a badge on her arm, decorated with a carefully stitched cat face. I narrow my eyes and turn to face her fully.

"I heard there was a town in this area," I answer her. "And last I checked that's where I was headed."

"Why?" She demands, fondling one of the many knives she's wearing. "You think you can get redeemed? Think again, boy, there's people been there for _years_ , waiting for their turn. 'Sides, everyone knows the Cleric's just a hack."

"I'll judge that for myself thanks."

"I'm thinking maybe you won't," she says, lips curling back to reveal a mouth full of tiny, sharp teeth. "I'm thinking maybe you'll be coming with me."

"I'm thinking maybe you've got 'till the count of three to leave me alone."

"Or what?" She demands. "You'll hurt me with your big, scary sword? What you think you're hiding with that hood, boy? I see in the dark. I know who you are."

"Oh really," I say, unimpressed. "Enlighten me."

"You're that brat everyone's in a frenzy looking for. And the way I figures it, if they want you, then the Cleric wants you. And if the Cleric wants you, then Blind wants you first." I raise a hand to my head and pinch the bridge of my nose for a moment, fighting off a sudden headache.

"Listen," I say flatly, "I don't care _who_ wants me, I'm not going anywhere with anyone. I'm sort of on a tight timeline here, and I haven't got time to be messing around with you, so if you're going to try something then try it so I can kick your ass and we can both get on with our days."

"Oi," says the Shrew. "Kid thinks he's something. What do you think, Duthie?"

Before I can even register that she's talking to someone behind me, something sharp and small stings at my neck. I hiss and start to turn to face whoever's behind me, but all I see is a long, narrow claw extricating itself from my skin and a second cat badge on the arm attached to the claw, before my knees start to buckle.

I'm unconscious before I hit the ground.

*******

"You know," says a mildly disappointed voice somewhere to my right. It's hard to focus on it. I'm groggy and disoriented, "I was expecting so much more of the Hero of Time." The title is enough to jolt me back a little further towards coherence.

"What …?" I move to clutch at my head with a hand, but suddenly find that they're tied quite firmly behind my back. A quick shifting of my feet finds my ankles in a similar situation. I can feel my face dissolve into a scowl.

Goddess dammit.

This apparently amuses my "host" because he laughs shortly.

"Not bad, eh? You wouldn't think it because of his claws, but Duthie's mean with knots when push comes to shove." I twist onto my side so I can peer up at the man talking to me. He's leaning forward onto his knees on the simple wooden chair beside where I'm laying. If he stood up he'd tower over me, but he's skinnier – lanky's a good word for him. Every inch of him is covered by a simple set of black leathers, and he wears a variety of knives, a couple of swords, and a whip at his hip for good measure. I can't see his face, as he's got it hidden behind a stylized mask shaped like a cat's face – the same cat that was on the badges of the two people who attacked me.

What catches my attention isn't what's odd about him, though. It's what's familiar.

Dangling from his neck on a delicate golden chain is a tiny charm shaped like the symbol of the Sheikah. I narrow my eyes at it.

"I see you passed your _Quisros_ ," I say pointedly, turning my attention back up to his mask. "I bet it had nothing on mine." His only reaction is to tense up for a moment, his hands giving a barely visible twitch as though he means to shove the little bauble back under his shirt where he likely keeps it, but he thinks better of it at the last minute.

"You? A Sheikah?" The mask moves as though looking me up and done. "No offence, kid, but you look more like a Hylian than anything else."

"So I'm told," I reply, "but seeing as I'm not feeling the weight of my weapons or even my pouch, I'll assume you went through my things while I was out. You don't really look like the type to have had any respect for things of sentimental value, so I've no doubt you've seen my own version of that necklace."

"So what, you were a chosen?"

"I _am_ a blood," I answer flatly, emphasizing the present tense. "And you're a Sheikah too if I'm not mistaken."

"I _was_ ," he answers, mimicking my emphasis of the tense. He grabs the necklace at last and shoves it back under his shirt. "But we're none of us what we were, kid. Not anymore. I don't know how long you've been here, but you must have learned that by now. It's the first law of the Dark World: nothing is as it was, and nothing is as it seems." I heave an irritated sigh.

"Look," I say, "can we just skip to the part where you tell me what's going on?"

"Well golly-gosh-darn-it, aren't we impatient," the man notes with a sardonic tone. "What's the rush, kid? You're not going anywhere for a while, you may as well get comfortable." He leans back in his chair and drapes one arm over the back of it. "My name is Blind. Previously of the Sheikah, as you guessed, though few know it, and even fewer care. That little tidbit of information will prove quite useless here." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"My name is Link, my heritage is more complicated than I care to explain right now, but it matters less than your own no matter where I am." I regard him coolly. "Hero of Time, at your service." I give him a dull look. "I'd get up to shake your hand, but I'm a little … preoccupied at the moment."

"The Hero of Time," he muses. "You're what, kid? Nineteen?"

"Twenty-one," I respond darkly. "And a half."

"Hmm," he says, thoughtful. "I never knew you then. You were born after I left." I frown at him.

"This matters because…"

"It doesn't," Blind responds, waving it off as unimportant. "Just a random tidbit of interest to me for personal reasons." There's a momentary lull in the conversation, and for a minute he looks as though he wants to ask me something – he's hungry for something I know. He even goes so far as to open his mouth, but at the last second a cold, dead look crosses over his face and he closes his mouth again.

I know that look. I recognize it.

It's the same reason I'm having trouble touching my heart of hearts.

This place sucks the life out of everyone it touches.

I decide, half out of sympathy, that a change of subject is in order.

"So why in Farore's name did you send those people to kidnap me?" He cocks his head at the unexpected mercy, then shrugs, almost gratefully.

"Kidnapping is such a strong word," he says. "It implies there's someone out there who misses you. No, what I've done is more like … appropriation. See, everything that comes into this area belongs to one of two people: myself, or the Cleric. We don't much like each other, he and I." He gestures. "I say he's a no-good charlatan, feeding off of peoples hopes and dreams and foolishness, and he says I'm a no-good thief, _and_ a ruffian, who feeds off of people's hard work and determination, with no respect for what they're trying to accomplish, which, in my opinion is jack – but that's the crux of our argument after all."

"Sounds like you're both assholes to me," I say plainly. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"You're pretty mouthy for someone who's all tied up," he points out. "Do you even realize how serious a situation you're in, kid?" I surprise both myself and him by laughing suddenly.

"What?" I demand. "You mean this!" I nod my head at the stone room and wiggle my bonds. "You think this is _serious_? Do you have any idea what I've _been through_ over the last _month_? Do you have any idea what I've been through over the last _three days_?" I laugh again, almost hysterically. "Serious, he says! Ha!" I narrow my eyes at him. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

"That's where you're wrong, kid," he says darkly. "I think I'm the only one in this room who does."

"Why don't you just kill me," I demand flatly. "Because truth be told, I'm kind of tired of talking, so unless you have some other purpose for me…"

"Now why would I want to kill you?" He demands. "Do you know how valuable you are, right now? Even without people realizing that you're the Hero of Time. The Cleric wants you, and until I find out why, and how to exploit that to my advantage, you'll have to be content to continue breathing I'm afraid."

"It's probably only fair to warn you that I'm not the easiest pawn to control."

"It's probably only fair to warn you that I don't give a damn." He gets to his feet. "Get some sleep, kid. You look like you need it. I'll be back in an hour or two once night falls and maybe we'll chat again." My blood runs cold and I go rigid.

Damn.

Nightfall.

"Hey!" I say as he turns away. "Blake!"

"It's Blind, kid. My name is Blind."

"Whatever," I say flatly. "Listen, are there other people here?"

"Where?"

"Here," I say impatiently. "In this place. Where ever this is."

"Plenty of them," he says. "So don't even think about trying to escape."

"Come nightfall," I say flatly, "escape will be the last thing on my mind. You need to let me go." Blind scoffs and turns to face me fully.

"Oh this oughta be good," he says, leaning back against the wall. "I've got to let you go, do I?"

"Listen to me," I all but snarl, "did it never strike you as odd that I haven't turned into anything like the rest of you? Why do you wear that mask, Blind? It's not because you look like you did before you came here." One hand twitches again, as though to move up and touch his mask, but he controls the urge.

"What's your point?" He demands, a dangerous note in his voice.

"I'm not as normal as I might look," I tell him. "Come nightfall I'm going have a lot more teeth, and a lot less control." Blind studies me for a long moment, and I spend the time cursing his mask. I can't see his face; can't judge his expressions. At last he shakes his head.

"Nice try, kid," he says. "I almost believed you there, but I'm calling your bluff. You're the Hero of Time. You're immune like the Maidens are. And I assure you, every last one of us who's trapped here hates you for it. Go to sleep. I'll see you in a couple hours."

"Blind! I'm not—" he shuts the door "—bluffing," I finish hopelessly. I close my eyes and gnash my teeth.

Great. Just great. Captured, tied up, locked in, and in a couple hours I'm going to turn into a homicidal monster and we'll see how much of a difference these ropes and that door makes then.

I have to get out of here. Stupid bastard won't believe me 'till it's too late, but I can't let it _get_ too late. I have to act now, while I can.

But how?

I exhale loudly and drop my head limply to the side, staring listlessly at my "room". I think I could handle the ropes. It'll take me a while, but one of the first things Nabooru taught me as a Gerudo is the art of escape. As a Gerudo, she said, you'll spend an inordinate amount of time fleeing pursuit of one type or another. It's embarrassing enough if they catch you, but doubly so if they can keep you. Any Gerudo worth her (or his) salt can get out of most rope bonds, and even a good number of metal ones. But what does that get me? Even if I did somehow manage to get out of the ropes binding me, I have no way to get out of the room. No weapons, no allies, no anything. I sigh bitterly and narrow my eyes at the object of my frustration.

It's me versus a wooden door, and the door is winning before we've even started.

There's got to be a way … there's got to something I can do to get through that door ….

The hinges are on the outside and inaccessible to me, I'm not strong enough to knock it down, and that'll just give whatever guards are outside enough time to prepare a defence against me even if I could, and I can't hack it to pieces without a weapon.

So what—. My train of thought derails abruptly, a sudden, obvious, totally irresponsible solution occurs to me that makes me grin, wide and humourless.

The Dark World may be able to suck the joy and hope out of every fibre of your being, I reflect as I begin to twist and wrench my body into unnatural positions to try and get my arms in front of me instead of behind me, but there's a certain, simple pleasure in setting something on fire that not even _it_ can take away.

Din, I think to myself with a muffled grunt as I twist something in my shoulder horribly, is definitely my favourite Goddess.

It takes me about two minutes of wriggling, writhing and wrenching, but I finally manage to force my arms over and around my feet so that they're in front of me. I fall limp for a moment, panting. I'd like to think that Nabooru would be proud of me, but she'd complain about how long I took, and the fact that I'm out of breath, and generally conclude that I'm a pitiful Gerudo all told.

She'd win the argument too, because I'd be too out of breath to do anything about it.

Unfortunately I don't have that luxury right now.

I roll over onto my side and bring my wrists up to my mouth. I start pulling at the foul-tasting knot with my teeth. It's too bad Din's Fire has that protective area that keeps it from burning me and whatever's close to me, or I'd just burn the ropes off too.

I pause in my gnawing – I can't believe I just said that – then abruptly shrug and start working at the knots again with renewed enthusiasm.

The depression that permeated my mood earlier today seems to have dissipated almost entirely with the promise of some kind of action. I'm still feeling grim, make no mistake about that. That's settled itself into my bones and I doubt I'll ever be able to extricate it, but it's almost a grim satisfaction now.

That son of a bitch thought he had me. Thought his rope and his door and his stone room could hold me. Nothing can hold me. Especially not some nobody Sheikah who fancies himself a rebel. Serious situation. Ha! I'll show him a serious situation.

One last, savage yank and I feel the ropes around my wrists loosen. I force myself into a seated position, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder as I do so, and start undoing my feet. Who cares if my shoulder's pulled. It'll only be a couple hours 'till I'm the Beast anyway – I can feel the moon pulling at me – and then it won't hurt anymore. Insta-heal. And then, once I've changed I can find Blind and show him just how—

I jerk myself up straight as though burned the instant I realize where my thoughts had been going. The Beast's presence, which I hadn't notice sneaking up on me, slides smugly back to the back of my mind. I can feel my temper surge violently at the thought of what it's up to, and it takes all my effort to swallow my anger and relax my fists and jaw.

 _You don't fight fire with fire,_ I counsel myself tightly. _That's what Anduriel said. You fight fire with water. You fight anger with serenity._ The knots come loose much easier thanks to the gift of opposable digits and the ropes fall from my ankles. I turn my attention back up to the door. _You fight wooden doors with fire_. I get to my feet, but am unable to stop the next question in the sequence.

_But what do you fight a beast with?_

I shake my head violently as I move around the cell for a moment, stretching my legs. Don't want to think about this. I just want to get out of here before I do something I regret. Before _it_ makes me do something I'll regret.

 _Anything I do_ , the Beast's presence reminds me, _is something you're capable of. That's the point._

I ignore it and finally halt my pacing in front of the door.

Let's do this.

"Din's … _FIRE_!"

The familiar ring of fire explodes outwards, igniting the little wooden chair and the little wooden door before dissipating off the stone walls. Through the crumbling coals and ash that is rapidly looking less and less like a door I meet the started gazes of Shrew Woman and Claw Man. They're seated at a table in the centre of the room outside my "cell" with a deck of cards on the table in front of them, and a few clutched in their hands (or carefully in the long, thing claws extending off of Claw Man's fingers). On the table beside the cards is a pile of what is definitely my stuff.

If I didn't know better, I'd say they were gambling for it.

This does not improve my mood.

The door finally crumbles and I leap through it at the same time as Shrew Woman and Claw Man leap to their feet, their cards falling forgotten around them.

"Didn't know you was a mage," Shrew Woman says, ripping a hand crossbow off her hip and pointing it at me. "Woulda gagged you."

"If it makes you feel any better," I say glibly, skidding to a stop as she raises the crossbow, "I can feel my gag reflex kicking in just looking at you." Claw Man – this must be Duthie – moves to flank me, claws twitching almost hungrily. "Also, I'm not a mage. Please, haven't got the patience for that."

"You burn through a door in a heartbeat and expect us to believe you're not a mage?" Duthie demands in a hoarse, hissing voice. Sounds painful for him to talk.

"If I've learned one thing in the half hour since I woke up in here, it's that you guys don't really believe much of anything. But that doesn't matter to me. Believe what you want, I know who I am."

"Oh? And who are—Din's blood!" I throw myself forward before she can finish her sentence. I smash my hand into her crossbow just as she fires it, throwing the bolt wild. She's faster than I gave her credit for, though, because almost before I've even recovered from hitting the crossbow, she's pulled a knife from nowhere and is slashing at me with it. I duck under her swing and lash out with a hand, grabbing her wrist and twisting. She rolls with it, dropping the knife, but managing to break my hold and position herself behind me, which is just fine with me, because it leaves me an open shot at the table. Instead of whirling to meet her next slash I throw myself forward, dodging her blow and lunging for my gear.

Duthie gets their first, swiping my stuff off the table and onto the floor with a sweep of his hand, and then turning to face me as my fingers come just short of my sword. I throw myself backwards, just barely saving my chest from his claws, and scowl at him.

"If any of that is broken, you're dead meat," I say flatly.

"It's not yours anyway," he responds, pointing with one, long claw at the Master Sword. "Who did you steal that from?"

"I didn't steal it, it's mine."

"That's bullshit, boy. That sword belongs to the Hero of Time." He lunges at me without waiting for a response and I'm suddenly concerning myself with keeping away from his claws for three, very important reasons:

One, I'm pretty sure they're poisonous. That would be why I spontaneously dropped unconscious.

Two, the last time I smelled blood I went absolutely feral thanks to the Beast. I don't think it'll care whether the blood is his or mine.

And three, they're claws, man. Sharp ones.

So I duck and weave and dodge, and try to do it in the general direction of my things, all while keeping an eye of Shrew Woman who would no doubt like nothing better than an opportunity to stab me in the back. Unfortunately, Duthie is not of a mind to let me arm myself and I'm starting to feel more desperate. They're working me slowly back towards the room I came from, and the next time they lock me up they'll be a lot more careful about it. I can't afford that.

"That's it Duthie, get him back in there," crows Shrew Woman. "Little brat. Thinks he's special 'cause he's normal. Show him what being normal amounts to around here."

There has _got_ to be a non-violent way out of this.

Dammit …

If I could just get at my sword, maybe I could intimidate them. There's nothing frightening about an unarmed man. Especially one that won't hit you.

"Blind doesn't want you dead, kid," Duthie hisses. "Get back in your cell before I have to disobey orders."

"You used to be a Sheikah," I say, stalling. I'm getting closer to the door, he keeps herding me back that way.

"Oh yeah? How do you know?"

"You recognized the Master Sword on sight. You knew it belongs to the Hero of Time. You seem to consider yourself an expert on the subject. The Sheikah are the only race with extensive legends about the Hero."

"But not the only race who study them," Shrew Woman pipes up with a smug smirk. "Duthie was a historian."

"Mind your business, Wandi," Duthie hisses sharply. "You know what Blind says. Who you were doesn't matter."

"Not even when it's a part of who you are?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I'm at the door to the cell now. One more slash and I'll be inside the room again. Gotta stall, gotta stall, gotta stall …. "History … knowledge isn't something that leaves you just because you're here. You still know the legends of the Hero of Time. You still know about the Master Sword."

"And what good does that knowledge do me?" Duthie hisses, pausing in his assault to scowl, revealing a mouth filled to the brim with rows of jagged, razor sharp teeth. There! That's it! This is a weak spot. Gotta find a way to press home the advantage …. "Here, where none of it matters?"

"It can stop you from making a mistake," I say cautiously. "I'm not bluffing when I tell you I'm the Hero of Time. That sword is _my_ sword. I didn't steal it."

"Like I'm going to believe—"

"I pulled it out of one of the Pedestals of Time at the Temple of Time. I can use it to travel back and forth in Time. I have the Ocarina of Time. _Half_ of the magic items I _own_ end in the word Time!" Duthie frowns.

"You're a Sheikah," he says. "I saw your necklace. Any Sheikah knows of the legends. You're just using your knowledge to put together a plausible—"

"Is there a reason you haven't locked him in yet?" Wandi demands impatiently. "What if Blind comes back?"

"I can prove it," I say, ignoring her. "Give me the sword. I can prove that I'm the Hero of Time. I can do something with it that no one else could. I can access it's powers." Duthie blinks, his frown growing uncertain.

"Give you a sword?" He says. "Sounds like a fools gambit to me."

"What's the matter?" I demand coldly. "Afraid it might be true?"

"Why would I be afraid?" Duthie hisses at me. "Even if you _are_ the Hero of Time, why does it matter? Why are you here?" I scowl at him.

"I'm here because a son of a bitch took some people who were very important to me and imprisoned them here, then did the same thing to me. I'm here because if I don't rescue them, Hyrule is in what you might consider dire straits. I'm here because I _can't go home_." I pause and take a deep breath, struggling to keep control of my emotions. "I'm not here because I want to be, Duthie. Any more than you do. I'm here because I was a fool, as usual, and fell for a black wizard's cheap trick. And now I have to do what I can to meet my job requirements as Hero of Time." I narrow my eyes. "And if I have to go through you to do so, so be it." Wandi laughs, harsh and grating.

"Kid thinks he's special!" She snorts. "Lookit 'im. Standing there all righteous. Like he's better'n us. Feh. I don't know why we got to keep him alive, any way."

"Because Blind said so, Wandi," Duthie snaps, never releasing my gaze. "So you're the Hero of Time, but you're here by accident."

"Why would _anyone_ come here on purpose?"

"The Light World isn't all there is to Hyrule, kid," Duthie says in his hissing voice. I get the distinct feeling I've disappointed him somehow. "The Hero of Time would know that." I frown at him.

"What?" I demand. "What are you talking about?"

"Haven't you realized yet that this place mirrors the Light World?" He demands. "Do you know where you are? You're standing in what, in the Light World, are the Sheikah Caverns. The paths don't necessarily match up, the rooms may not be in the same places, but these tunnels and caves are. We're right beneath the Cleric's village, which is in the same spot in the Dark World—"

"As Kakariko in the Light," I finish, my eyes going wide. "Which explains why the forest here was in the same direction from the town as the Lost Woods from Kakariko." A little flame of hope flickers valiantly in my chest. "But that's fantastic! I'm not half as lost as I thought I was! If the Dark World parallels…."

"It doesn't parallel," Duthie interrupts. "It overlaps. Any Sheikah over the age of twelve knows that. Did you steal your _Quisros_ charm as well as the Master Sword?"

"I … haven't exactly had a standard upbringing," I say. "I didn't even find out I _was_ a Sheikah until a few years ago." Duthie looks unimpressed.

"I suppose you were raised by Kokiri, hmm?" He asks, eyeing my tunic and hat. I scowl at him.

"As a matter of fact, I was," I say. "Until I was 11. Then I was raised as a Hylian. Until I was 17. Everything gets weird after that."

"Weirder than a non-Kokiri being raised in the Lost Woods and spontaneously finding himself in Kakariko?"

"Castletown, and you have no idea."

"Hey," says Wandi, "if you was raised by the Kokiri, where's your fairy?" I scowl angrily at her.

"I don't know," I answer stiffly. "She's gone missing."

"Feh," Wandi says. "He's a damn liar, Duthie. Just put him back in his room." I turn back to Duthie.

"I'm not going back in my room," I growl at him. "I have to get out of here before night falls."

"Yes, Blind said you'd tried something to that effect on him as well," Duthie notes. "I'm afraid not." I clench my teeth.

Damn cynical pessimistic un-believing mule-headed short-sighted sons of bitches!

"Fine," I say flatly. "Then I'm sorry ahead of time for anything that happens from this point on. And if I don't make it out of here, then I suggest you make yourself scarce come nightfall, because I'm not going to—"

I lunge forward without finishing my sentence, catching both of them off guard with the sudden movement. Wandi levels her crossbow and Duthie lunges after me.

"Nayru's," I cry as I leap up onto the table and run to the other side where my stuff fell, "LOVE!" I hit the floor above my stuff just as a pretty shimmering sound rings in the sudden appearance of the familiar blue shield. Duthie's claws and Wandi's crossbow bolt clang uselessly off it. Duthie snarls and attacks it again, but to no avail.

"I _told_ you he was a mage!" Wandi shrieks. I ignore them both and start picking up my gear and slinging it on as fast as I can.

"Duthie," I say, hurriedly attaching my pouch to my belt. "The Pedestal of Time … there's one in the Sheikah Caverns. Does the Dark World have those as well?"

"How did you make this shield?" Duthie demands angrily. "Spells aren't instantaneous like that. How did you—"

"Fairy magic," I reply with a raised eyebrow, securing my shield over my quiver and sword. " _Great_ Fairy magic as a matter of fact."

"But the Great Fairies don't exist!"

"Yeah," I say. "I get that a lot. And yet, here I am, wrapped in a blue cocoon you can't break through, no matter how hard you try and you've got no other explanation for it. Kinda like this." I draw the Master Sword, and as per usual in this place it's instantly on fire. Duthie stumbles back a step with a gasp, his eyes wide.

"The sword," he says in a hoarse voice. "You've … it's …"

"And now, if you'll excuse me," I say stiffly, "I have other places to be." I offer them both a mocking bow, then turn towards the exit to the room and jog quickly down it. I hear Wandi snarl behind me, but Duthie apparently stops her before she can do whatever it was she had planned on doing.

"Wandi, no!" He says, his voice rapidly fading as I run. "We've got to get Blind…." And then I can't hear them any more, and to tell you the truth, I'm kind of relieved. Their voices were horrible.

Now for the best part of my plan.

Running blindly through these tunnels and praying with everything I have I actually manage to find an exit…

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Everything is going according to plan," he said, his voice muffled slightly behind his mask. "The boy has escaped and should be herded quite nicely towards the _Quisrol_." He paused but didn't look up from his position on one knee. "Master, you … you didn't tell me he was a Sheikah."

"What does race matter in a place such as this?" Demanded the creature, perfectly androgynous face oddly shaded in the light from its eyes. "You of all people should understand that, Blind. Prepare yourself. The Cleric will meet the Triforce of Courage in the _Quisrol._ He will make the Triforce of Courage trust him. He will offer him a way back to the Light World. Do you understand?"

"Yes … Master," said Blind after a slight hesitation.

"It is imperative that the Triforce of Courage remain in the Dark World. Do you understand?"

"Yes Master."

"The carrier of the Triforce of Courage will be sacrificed, do you understand?"

"Yes … Master."

"Good. See that it is so, Blind. I tolerate much from you. I will not tolerate failure to secure the Triforce of Courage."

"Yes Master." The winged-thing turned to leave and Blind looked up at last. "Wait, Master! The boy … he claims that come nightfall…"

" _I_ will deal with the Triforce of Courage come nightfall," said the creature. "Do not trouble yourself. Now prepare. The Triforce of Courage approaches the _Quisrol_." And with that it left, letting the door swing shut behind it.

Blind threw himself to his feet and let out the snarl he'd been just barely holding in.

How had it come to this? Slave to a freak of nature. Bowing and scraping like some kind of … of … Gerudo! The thought of working for this creature made the bile rise up in his throat. The thought that by working for this creature he was working for Ganondorf – or _Ganon_ as the freak called him, for no apparent reason – made him physically ill. He was betraying all he'd ever stood for – as doubtful as others may have been that he'd stood for it – by doing this!

But he'd been doing it for what? Fifteen years now? Or was it ten? Or twenty? He didn't even know anymore. There was no time in this place. No time, no hope, nothing.

That was why he'd given in after all, wasn't it? Because he'd realized one day that it was hopeless. That Ganon had reached the Triforce first, that he was trapped in what had gone from paradise to hell, that there was nothing he could do to fight it. He had forgotten why he'd been fighting. Forgotten what kept him doing his damndest to elude the freak's clutches. For how long? Three years? More? He couldn't really remember that either.

He sagged for a moment in defeat, knowing full well he wouldn't defy the freak. The man who would once have fought tooth and nail and gladly gone to his death before bowing to _anyone_ , let alone the corrupted, ugly husk of a Sentinel, was dead. Had been since the day Ganondorf had touched the Triforce and created the prison that had once been the Sacred Realm. There were times when Blind wondered if he'd ever really existed. He shook himself and moved over to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Mirrors were rare in the Dark World. Most people hated them. Destroyed them on sight rather than have to face what they've become. But that was what Blind was all about. Facing up to the truth, ugly and crushing though it might be. The simple fact of the matter was that you weren't who you were and you never would be again? Why deny it? Accept your fate. It would make it that much easier to deal with.

He pulled off his mask and forced himself to stare at his reflection.

The face of nothing stared back at him. Blind's grey hair seemed to grow from the top of his skull, and it was definitely Blind's skin color, but where there should have been a face was nothing. No eyes, no nose, just a blank canvas of skin.

Blind's face had been the most painful to lose.

 _She always used to say how much she liked my nose_ , he remembered, and as always he clutched at the memory, no matter how much it hurt him. That was the point. The Dark World worked to slowly leech away his memory of who he was, but it did let him remember things from time to time. Things that hurt to remember. With his last shred of defiance, he always clung to them. _She said it suited my face …_ A hand came up, schooled through years of practice into stillness despite the tremble the effort covered, and moved over the eerily smooth surface. _If only she could see me now …_

The pain, the memories … they were a necessary part of what came next. Because if Blind was about facing what you saw in the mirror and letting go of what you had once thought you were, the Cleric was about remembering it. The Cleric was about redemption. The Cleric claimed the Dark World was a punishment, and only by proving yourself good and pure of heart could you earn your way back to the heaven that was Hyrule. Those who obeyed and listened to the Cleric and to God – a red-eyed, leather-winged, black-armoured God, but nobody except the Cleric knew that of course – would be granted freedom from their hideous form, and a return to the Hyrule of their dreams.

As he watched his reflection the grey hair turned white and grew long and thick, billowing around his no-face and neck. His hands grew wrinkled and took on the spots that came with age. He lost the loose, boneless grace that marked everything about Blind and took on a rigid, solidness that was the Cleric's trademark. The black leathers he wore twisted and billowed, becoming a thick set of ornate white robes, complete with heavy cowl.

Beyond a subtle change in skin color, his featureless face remained the same. He could never keep faces long. The first few times he tried on a personality he could manage it, but slowly the details would fade, each time he tried it, the face would progressively morph more and more into nothingness, until eventually he'd be left with the open canvass that stared back at him now.

He'd spent his whole life pretending he was other people. Disguises, elaborate webs of careful fabrications, documentation, air-tight alibis, smoke and mirrors, whatever it took. Now he was cursed to never be himself again.

No more Dashil "Blind" of the Sheikah.

Now he was Blind the Thief.

Or The Cleric.

Or the Doppelganger.

Or any number of a million other people he could, would, and had been.

But nevermore himself.

His Self had died a long time ago.

He reached back and pulled the cowl far up over his head, hiding his featureless face in its shadows.

Time to do the freak's bidding and go "rescue" the Hero, and perhaps see an end to this at last.


	17. I'd Prefer a Civil War to a Succession War

#  **Chapter 17 and an Interlude**

_The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums.  
_ Arthur Koestler, _Janus: A Summing Up_

_Alas! must it ever be so?  
Do we stand in our own light, wherever we go,  
And fight our own shadows forever?  
_Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton

##  **Chapter 17**

I am _so_ lost.

I skid to a stop at the umpteenth fork in a long series of forks in the dark stone tunnels, panting heavily and struggling to beat down the hopelessness welling up in my chest. I haven't got much time left. I _have_ to get out of here. The Beast is growing more present, I've got a headache starting behind my eyes, my senses are getting better by the second, and I can _feel_ the moon.

The sound of voices drifts down the left corridor, so I push myself back into motion, heading right.

If I can't find my way out maybe I can at least lose myself in the tunnels. Maybe the Beast won't be able to find his way back.

Somewhere deep in my chest the Beast laughs its derision at my vain hopes and I scowl darkly, doubling my speed in answer.

There's gotta be a way out of here. There _has_ to be.

Another fork. Scent of people from the right. Left then.

I continue running.

Two more forks (left and straight) and then a dead end. I skid to a stop and stare up at the stone wall, clenching my jaw. Dammit. Have to double-back…

I smell them two seconds before I hear them.

"I think the brat's gone this way! Let's go!"

I whirl around and glare back down the tunnel.

Dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

" _Brayden…_ "

The word is a whisper, I can just _barely_ make it out, but my head snaps up and I cast a frantic look around. Gliding out of the wall behind me is my aunt Aeria, looking as desperate and miserable as ever, but much less transparent…

… and I'm not using the Lens of Truth.

"Aeria!" I gasp. "I mean … _Aunt_ Aeria?" The word "Aunt" feels foreign in my mouth, as do most words with familial connotations. "What are – I'm not Brayden, I'm Link. I'm his son, Link."

" _Brayden_ …" She whispers again, her voice choked with tears. She makes the gesture again – the one she'd been doing in the woods, then points at the wall. Is she even hearing me?

"What do you want?" I demand, trying to keep my irritation down. "That's a wall. I can't—" She begins to cry, looking positively wretched as she makes the gesture again and points insistently at the wall. The voices from down the tunnel are getting louder. I stare back at her helplessly.

"It's a _wall_ ," I repeat desperately, trying to make her understand. I lift my hand to bang on it. "Look, I can't—" I freeze in surprise when my arm goes right through the wall. I snatch it back and stare at the wall with wide-eyes. "It's an illusion," I breathe.

" _Brayden_ …"

"Why couldn't you speak before?" I demand of her. "And I'm not Brayden, I'm his _son_. Link." She makes the gesture and I blow my bangs out of my eyes impatiently. "All right," I say. "All right, fine!" I haven't much of a choice left, anyway. Judging by what my sense of smell is telling me, my pursuers are almost on top of me. I plunge into the wall, praying there's nothing nasty on the other side.

There isn't. There's just an empty room. A _huge_ empty room. The walls and floor are covered in black stone – maybe marble? – and familiar intricate pillars are set into the wall, stretching up into the roof, which extends well beyond my line of sight. I feel my breath pick up.

"The _Quisrol_ …" I breathe. Well … a negative image of the _Quisrol_ , but this is unsurprising. I turn my attention to the centre of the room, and sure enough, extending right out of the floor in the middle of it is a chest high basin made out of the same black material as the rest of the room. No seam differentiates it from the floor.

"The Pedestal!" I rush up to it, but something is different besides the color of the stone that everything in the room is made of. The Triforce on the side of the basin doesn't glitter golden like it should. It's covered in green, instead. And where before I would approach the Pedestal in the Light World and the Master Sword would react, growing warm in my hand, now it doesn't react. It stays cold.

"Oh please…" I rush desperately up to the basin, praying, hoping, _willing_ it to be full …

But it amounts to as much as any of my hopes so far have. When I peer into the basin, it's empty. No clear liquid to be seen, and a sizeable crack in the bowl.

I could cry right now.

"Goddess _dammit_ …"

Surprised at just how much I'd been hoping the pedestal would work – and just how much it kills me that it won't – I let myself slide down onto the floor, leaning hopelessly back up against the pedestal.

Well, that's it then.

I'm lost, no way out, a band of thieves hunting me down in their own territory. I can't go home to Hyrule, the Pedestal doesn't work, and I'm maybe a minute away – judging by the building buzz of pain in the back of my mind – from the Beast getting out and killing everyone it finds.

"You know," says a soft, sympathetic voice, "many people, in times like this, find it helps to turn to God." I'm on my feet, sword blazing again before he's done speaking.

A tall, well-built man stands peacefully in the room in front of me, his face obscured in the shadows of a thick hood. I narrow my eyes in a paranoid fashion at him, casting a furtive look around.

"I didn't smell you," I say flatly. "I still can't smell you. Why not?"

"What are you talking about, child?" Asks the man. I narrow my eyes at him, not really wanting to explain it.

"Suffice it to say," I say simply, "that my sense of smell is heightened right now and I should have smelled you long before you got near me. How did you get in here?"

"Same was as you, I imagine," he says with an amused look. "Though that pack of thieves did give me a bit of trouble, but I have my ways." I'm not laughing. My time is numbered in seconds.

"Look," I say flatly, "you need to get out of here. Right now."

"I've never abandoned a person in need before, my boy," he says calmly, "and if you don't mind my saying it, you certainly look like you're in need right now."

"Get out of here!" I snarl. "I'm going to—" But it's too late. My warning is cut off by a blinding stab of pain. I gasp and fall to my knees, almost losing my grip on my sword.

The sword!

I've got to sheathe it before I change.

_Get back!_ I snarl at the Beast, forcing myself to focus through the pain on shoving my sword into its sheath. It takes more effort than I care to admit. _Get BACK!_

The Beast doesn't listen, clawing and tearing its way forward with more ferocity and strength than I can fight.

"What's wrong, son?" Asks a comforting voice. The man. It's the man. He's touching my shoulders as I clutch at my head. He's right on top of me and I _still_ can't smell him.

I try to answer him, to shove him away or scream at him to leave, but what comes out instead is a scream as my world turns white with pain, and then shatters into black.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Amplissa loosened her scimitar in its sheath for what felt like the millionth time, never removing her narrow-eyed gaze from the horizon. A purple twilight had settled over the desert, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Night was coming, and with it…

_With it, comes revenge_ , she thought fiercely. _Revenge for Aliza, and the others. Filthy abominations. I'll show them what it means to be Gerudo. I'll show them what it means to take Gerudo blood!_

Calm, steady footsteps ascending the ladder behind her. She knew without looking it was Rue.

"Any sign of them?" The old woman asked, betraying no emotion in her voice. She moved over to stand beside Amplissa on the tower over the gates.

"Not yet," Amplissa answered simply. "But they're out there. I can _smell_ them." Rue nodded and turned her gaze over the horizon. She knew was little use as a lookout – her eyes were not what they used to be – but she had not come up there to be lookout.

"What comes to knock tonight," Rue said, her words as calm and steady as her footprints, "is war." The still desert air carried her words over the wall, and though none of the other women took their eyes from the landscape in front of them, the slight inclinations of heads and slants of bodies told Rue they were listening. "And for once, we are not the instigators. We are not the offence." She paused, a pensive look on her face. "Throughout our history, there have been many wars. Even in my own lifetime, which is no more than an eye-blink in the face of history, the Gerudo have fought in war after war after war. In the past we fought other desert tribes until we were the only one left. We have fought invading armies from beyond our sands. We have fought against the forces of Gorons, and Hylians, and Sheikah, and Zora. We have fought against the Moblins. We have fought against hunger, and thirst, and the desert itself. Always we fight, and always we win, and this has forged us into the people we are now." She paused, sweeping the dunes with eyes that were seeing the battles of the past. "And now we have an enemy who _dares_ bring war to us. An enemy who's side we once fought along. And enemy led by a man we once called King. A betrayer of his own people. They have _dared_ to invade our desert. They have _dared_ to spill our blood. They have _dared_ to _touch_ our King, and murder our sisters, and attack the fragile bonds we have worked so hard to create between ourselves and Hyrule." She paused again, her face hardening in an exact mirror-image of the faces all along the wall and scattered below it hardening. One by one all the women waiting for some sign of their enemies put on their Gerudo faces.

"There is no such thing as a great war," Rue said. "But there is such a thing as a Gerudo's War, and a Gerudo's war is life. It is for life. It is about life. It is _her life._ Since the first Gerudo banded together and made a pact with the Goddess for aid and strength in the face of our trials, our fight has been a fight to survive. The wind which blows through the desert we have claimed as our own brings nothing but death, and yet here we are. We have bridled that wind, and we ride it, as we have always done." A fierce pride had entered her voice. "Despite all odds, we have survived, and continue to survive, and will always survive. No matter what that wind brings. No matter how our enemies plot and scheme and try. No matter how many Moblins the night will bring to our doorstep." She fell silent for a long moment, but those gathered sensed that she was not done. She raised her eyes at last to the Gerudo around her. Looked at each of them in turn, knew every last one of them by name and face and history.

"But our fight tonight, is not just for our survival," she said finally. "Tonight, for the first time in the history of the Gerudo, we fight not just for ourselves, but for those who depend on us, whether they know it or not. Whether they want our help or not. We are – as we have always been – Hyrule's first line of defence. To get to those we protect, the Moblins must first break our line. They must break through the Gerudo Gates. They must break through the Gerudo _people_. In all my years, in all the _Gerudo's_ years, _never_ has our line been broken! Never have these gates been breached! And they will not be breached now!

"We are here, tonight, the same people as we have always been. We are here, tonight, for the same reasons that always drive us here. But tonight, our purpose is different. We are here to _defend_. We are here to _protect_. We are here to _preserve_." She looked around at them again, met their eyes, made sure they understood what she was saying. "This is something we have always done, without knowing it. This is something that must be done now, with full awareness. Hyrule does not want us. Thanks to the machinations of our enemies, they believe they are done with us. They think they have washed their hands of us." She scoffed. "As if they had a choice in the matter. Since when have we ever spared a thought for the wishes of Hylians and their ilk?" An electric run of harsh laughter ran through the crowd.

"Tonight we fight for ourselves, _and_ the Gorons and the Hylians and the Zora and even the Sheikah! We fight for the baby Kokiri, safe in their trees. We fight for the Hyrule that doesn't want us, but that we've always been a part of, whether we knew it or not." She paused and let the weight of her words sink in.

"Tonight," she says, "we fight the first, _real_ Gerudo's War in _generations_. We are honoured to have this opportunity! We are honoured to be granted this sacrifice, whatever it may be! This is an opportunity like none other! It is time," she said, almost triumphantly, "to show the _world_ – allies and enemies both – what it is to be Gerudo!"

There was no answering cheer, or cry, or even a shout. Instead, teeth flashed in the growing darkness, feral grins white in the bruised twilight; a silent solidarity that went back to the original Gerudo. Rue gave them a tight, fierce smile of her own, then turned back to Amplissa and the sunset.

"I know you're angry about Aliza's loss," Rue said after a moment, lowering her voice now so that only Amplissa could hear her. Amplissa cut her off before she could continue any further.

"I am angry about the loss of _all_ my sisters," she said flatly. Rue raised an eyebrow at her.

"And well you should be," she said. "But if you think I am not aware of the fact that although we are all equal in the Goddess' eyes, we do occasionally pick favourites, you would be sadly mistaken." She leaned easily on the railing, looking away from Amplissa. "Aliza was more than your sister, Amplissa. Do not lie to me. You and she were close and you feel her loss more keenly than the others. You are prepared to seek vengeance for her more keenly than the others. I do not fault you for it, nor do I disapprove. Quite the contrary. All I ask, is that you be careful." Amplissa blinked and peered over at her.

"Why?" She asked. Rue's face took on a wry cast.

"Because the King has his own favourites as well, and you happen to fall under that group. As did Aliza. It will be hard enough, once he escapes the Dark World, to deal with the inevitable loss of women that will result from the coming battles. Harder still to deal with the loss of his favourites. And each favourite he loses only increases his burden." Amplissa was silent for a moment.

"Carrying a burden can make you stronger," she said after a long moment.

"Ah," said Rue, "but our King is not like our usual Kings. He is different, and his strength is of a different kind. You should know him well enough to know that."

"We shouldn't coddle him like we do," Amplissa answered, though her words lacked conviction.

"We don't," Rue answered. "If anything he coddles us, I think, though at times it's hard to see." She turned away from the horizon and moved back towards the ladder, pausing as she started her descent.

"I think, perhaps, I was incorrect in using the word favourites," she said, and Amplissa at last turned from the horizon to meet her gaze. Rue's face was neutral as usual. "I believe, he would refer to them as friends." And with that, her grey head disappeared down the ladder.

Amplissa stared after her for a moment, but whatever her thoughts on the subject, she was distracted from them by the sounds of a loud horn calling from somewhere in the desert. She turned back around as the sun finally sank below the horizon and night fell at last.

The enemy approached.

*******

Durnam decided, in a brief fit of passion, that he hated the man standing at the other end of the table. He was the spitting image of his son, right down to the arrogant, confident smirk on his face – though much greyer at the temples, Durnam couldn't help but note spitefully – not that he was one to talk. The man's handsome face turned around the room as he surveyed those gathered.

"What's the matter, lads?" He asked jovially. "You don't look happy to see me."

"What are you doing here, Eldrick?" Spat Harker. "Shouldn't you be out in the streets, rousing the rabble?" Eldrick Senior offered him a poisonous smile.

"Oh no," he said with a smirk, "I daresay my son's doing a good enough job of that. He doesn't need his old man's help. And I'm here because I heard there was a call for the seven – well the _six_ seeing as Hyrule currently doesn't have a representative available – Hylian Houses to gather and discuss the current situation, and you know, it's the funniest thing, but last I checked House Eldrick ranked in the seven." He offered a chill smile to the room. "Funny that the messenger missed me, but it is dire times we're living in after all. I decided to just assume, of course, that you had warmly invited me to your little get together, as I'm sure that is precisely what you meant by neglecting to send me an invitation." He took his customary chair at the oval table and leaned back in it idly. "So let's hear it. Go ahead and tell me who you've nominated to rule Hyrule so I can go ahead and tell you just how wrong you are."

"We're still in the process of debating it," Durnam said stiffly. "As you can imagine, your son has complicated things."

"Oh, now, now," said Eldrick, the grin never leaving his face. "Dorian's a good boy, and it's not entirely his fault, you know. The petty nobles are causing problems as well – had you heard that Trelain's been assassinated? I've no idea if it's true of course, but I'm fairly certain there's at least been an attempt – and, if you don't mind my saying, you men have brought most of this on yourselves. Treachery begets treachery, after all."

"We _do_ mind you saying it!" Snarled Shenyan, slamming his fist on the table. "How _dare_ you come in here and accuse us—" But Eldrick's grin vanished and he leapt to his feet, leaning across the table and looking murderous.

"How _dare_ you deny it to my face!" He roared, startling the gathered nobles. "Don't insult me, Shenyan, you idiot. For once in your miserable life why don't you act like a man. There isn't a man around this table who didn't side with Agahnim on _everything_ the old Wizard said and did!" He glowered around at all of them. "Now, I'm not condemning you for it. Some of you had reasons – a few of you damn good ones – for doing as you did. Some of you are nothing more than fools and treasonous dogs and I'd like nothing better than to hand you over to the lynch mob. But I'm not here for that."

"Than what _are_ you here for?" Demanded Harker, cutting across Black who looked as though he was about to argue the point.

"I'm here to explain to you how the battle lines are being drawn," Eldrick responded. "There is _one_ ruler of Hyrule, and that is Queen Zelda. Castletown's on the brink of civil war, and you all know it. There's already been preliminary violence. As I've said, some of the petty houses have begun fighting with each other, and the peasant's are already drawing sides. You plan on debating among yourselves and finally choosing one of your own houses to succeed the House of Hyrule, and you hope that by announcing it tonight you can avoid the bloodshed you can feel building in the streets. You hope that through a display of unity from the major houses you'll be able to calm the peasants and return things to normal." His eyes flashed. "I'm here to tell you that the House of Eldrick will fight you mangy rats until we _die_. If you announce any ruler besides Queen Zelda tonight, we'll unleash the mob."

"You can't be _serious_!" Durnam said, staring at him in shock. "You'd sentence those people to war over a dead—"

"If you believe for even a second, Durnam, that anyone chosen tonight will last – that you five won't immediately betray each other at the first possible opportunity once you've calmed the masses – then you're more of a fool than I thought. Personally, I'd prefer a civil war to a succession war – _especially_ when the throne isn't _yours_ to succeed."

"You can't possibly believe that Zelda is still alive," snaps Black. "After everything Agahnim—"

"After everything _you_ helped Agahnim do," Eldrick corrected him harshly. "And I will not believe that Zelda is dead until I see her body." He bared his teeth at them. "And if I _do_ see her body, and she _is_ in fact dead, then I will see to it that each and every one of you hangs if I have to tie the noose myself." He straightened and gave them all a smirk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some rabble to rouse." And he turned with a whirl of his dark ponytail and velvet cape and strode out of the room.

The nobles gathered around the table were silent for a long moment, staring at each other and waiting to see who would be the first to respond.

Hidden deep in the shadows of the room, Brayden of the Sheikah shook his head hopelessly. He already knew what the nobles would decide. Eldrick had made the battle lines clear as a bell for them, but they had very little choice given their situation and their own, personal ambitions. They would not acknowledge Zelda as the Queen – especially not when they believed her dead – and the people of Castletown would accept no other – thanks in large part to the House of Eldrick. He slipped out of the room and into the Servant's hallways.

The Sages were not going to be pleased.

*******

All the Cleric could think, as he slammed off the wall of the _Quisrol_ , a bloody gash in his side where what had once been the Hero of Time had raked his claws across him, was:

_Sweet, merciful Din! He was telling the truth!_

Snarling in rage or pain or animalistic insanity – pondering the source of the beast's violence was hardly on the Cleric's list of priorities – the beast threw himself at the prone man on the floor again as he pushed himself frantically to his feet.

For a brief, blinding instant, the Cleric didn't know if he was terrified or excited that he was about to die, and so, was rather confused when he didn't. That hadn't really seemed like an option, what with the teeth and the claws and the four hundred pounds of muscle and fury.

He lowered his arms, ever so slightly, from where he'd thrown them up in a futile attempt at protecting his face ( _my lack thereof_ , he corrected himself). Standing between himself and the monster was the freak, back rigid with effort, hands weaving complex patterns in the air, surrounded by a green light. The Cleric blinked, then peered around the _makani_. The monster was encased in a small cube of green light, throwing itself blindly against the walls with as much force as it could muster in the small area – which was still a considerable amount, judging by the way the cube shuddered and the freak strained. The cube grew smaller and smaller around the beast, eventually pinning it into a more or less still position, though it still thrashed its head and snarled and barked and growled. The _makani_ forced its hands forward and spoke a sharp word of command. The green light tightened around the beast, conforming to its shape, and abruptly went out.

The massive beast's eyes went dull and it toppled forward, crashing limply onto the ground. The Cleric turned his eyes back up to the corrupted Sentinel, who – once the light had finally vanished – had gasped like a drowning man finally getting back to the air and staggered back a step. The freak stared down at the beast and shook its head slowly.

"This … will be more complicated than I anticipated," it said, face impassive as always. The Cleric stared.

"What the Hell?" He managed. "What did you do to him!"

"I've put him to sleep," the freak answered slowly. "But it … was not as easy as it should have been. The Triforce of Courage protects its carrier fiercely and I am not equipped to fight a Triforce piece for long." It looked pensive. "Yet we must collect the Triforce of Courage for the Master. He requires all three." It turned abruptly to gaze at the Cleric. "You will have to kill him. His death has been decreed by the Master." The Cleric stared up at the _makani._

"What, like _now_?" He asked, startled. The Sentinel's eyes flared violently with red light suddenly and it raised a taloned hand. The Cleric saved himself only by throwing himself onto his hands and knees in a sudden panic. "I'm sorry, Master!" He gasped as the _makani_ 's claws sailed through the spot where he'd once been. "I shouldn't have questioned you! I was startled by the order, that's all!" He ground his teeth where the freak couldn't see. "Forgive me."

_I will kill you if it's the last thing I do_. The thought came from nowhere, but didn't surprise the Cleric. It had been a secret dream of his since he'd first bowed down to the corrupted Sentinel, but one he'd scarcely allowed himself to entertain over the years, harbouring a childish fear that the Sentinel would know somehow, if he thought it too loudly. And besides that, it was a hopeless dream. Before there had been no possible way to even _hope_ of freeing himself of the Sentinel, short of killing himself, of course, and as brave as he knew he could be, he wasn't brave enough to die just yet, even if a part of him wished he could. But now …

Despite himself, he peered from underneath his cowl at the unconscious beast sprawled on the ground nearby.

Now he had help. Some of the highest level help available.

The Hero of Time.

_If it really is the Sword of Evil's Bane … if it's really the blade the legends say it is …_

"Get up," snapped the Sentinel. "Kill him." Blind winced and got slowly to his feet, buying himself time to think.

"Master," he said putting as much apologetic respect into his voice as he could, "I … I don't mean to question you again, but did you not wish him sacrificed?"

"For the sacrifice to be effective, the mortals would have to know him. I do not wish to take the risk of allowing him to walk free. If we lose the Triforce of Courage, the Master will not be pleased. Now kill him." The Cleric, fully aware he was treading a thin line, chose his next words carefully.

"Well, it's just … I was thinking that perhaps the boy represents a golden opportunity." The use of the word golden was not an accident. It held a special significance for the Sentinel, and the Cleric knew that. "Master, I understand that your power and knowledge are nearly limitless—" he wasn't sure how much of that was flattery and how much of it was truth, but he was sure it couldn't hurt "—but your understanding of the mortal mind is necessarily limited due to just how far above them you are. The people begin to grow restless. For years, many of them have tried to resist the urges placed in them by this realm, and they begin to grow frustrated that they are never chosen. They begin to doubt."

"Perhaps," said the Sentinel, face impossible to read as always, "you are merely being too convincing as Blind."

"If I wasn't convincing as Blind," the Cleric interrupted smoothly, "the people would not believe that they had an enemy. They would not believe they need the Cleric to protect them. I _have_ to be convincing as Blind."

"Then not convincing enough as the Cleric," the Sentinel countered, and the Cleric silently cursed it in his head.

"Master it is _results_ that are convincing to mortals," he said. "The people need something new and fantastic to regain their interest and their faith. I suspect … I suspect that if he could be converted, the boy would prove the _perfect_ proselyte. He could easily convince the people that the Cleric is to be believed, and they would return to their worship of, ah … of you with renewed vigour, and thereby be kept in line." The sentinel was silent, considering the Cleric's words.

"But you have named him apostate."

"So I have," said the Cleric. "And at first, it will appear as though I was correct. But there is no better spokesman than a convert. It will merely add credibility once he converts."

"And once this is done, you plan to sacrifice him then?"

"I plan to redeem him, actually," said the Cleric. "Or at least to make it appear as though I have. Imagine it. A beast like that—" He gestured. "—Transformed before the gathered people back into the boy he was a scant few minutes ago. It will be quite the spectacle. They'll fall right back into our hands without so much as a whisper."

"But you _will_ kill him?"

"Yes of course," the Cleric said. "I _am_ a doppelganger, you know. It won't be the boy who walks back out of the cave, it will be me of course."

"Why should I take the risks?"

"Because the rewards are well worth it. Please your Master, get one step closer to reuniting the Triforce, and have an even tighter grip on the people in your domain than previously, all in one go."

"How do you know he won't flee when the opportunity presents itself?" The Sentinel demanded. Finally, the Cleric allowed himself to smile.

"I'll have someone give him incentive to stay," he said, turning back to the fallen beast again. "And I know just the man for the job…"

*******

"You know," said Karun, "it's the funniest thing, but I really can't remember what it was I asked them to do." He offered Dune a wide smile. "It can't have been that important, can it? I'm sure they'll be back soon." Dune's expression grew unimpressed.

"Karun, we haven't got time for games. Where are Bel and Mel?" He shrugged helplessly, turning back to his maps and plans.

"I told you, I can't remember what it was I set them to doing. They'll turn up." Dune made an irritated noise.

"Karun, they're rogue Sheikah. You shouldn't have given them anything to do. They can't be … they can't be trusted."

"Why not?" Karun asked, eyes going sharp with that eerie ability to see straight through to the heart of things that so many people developed as they got older. "Because the Council says so?"

"Because they're _rogue_ ," said Dune with a flat frown. "The Sheikan justice system is no concern of yours. What is a concern is that there are two rogue Sheikah missing, and we're less than an hour away from war. Now where are they?" Karun sighed and shrugged again.

"I don't know, I told you. Why not ask Darunia? Maybe he's seen them."

"Darunia told me to ask you," Dune managed through gritted teeth. Karun offered her a bright smile.

"Well then," he said, "guess there's nothing for you to do but wait and see if they turn up. Now, shouldn't you be out rallying your troops? As you've said, war is upon us." She threw up her hands and stormed out of the room. Karun shook his head. He had a feeling the irritation was less about the fact that Bel and Mel were rogue, and more about the fact that she was just worried about them.

"With all due respect, Big Brother," he said, addressing the table, "you know what I think of this." Darunia climbed out from beneath the maps that had been 'accidentally' draped over the edge of the table and grinned sheepishly up at his general.

"You don't really think they're going to get their stomach's in a knot over this when we've got Moblins to deal with, do you?" He asked, climbing to his feet.

"From my experience," said Karun, "it doesn't take much for the other peoples of Hyrule to get their stomachs in a knot." He paused for a moment. "Except maybe the Gerudo." Darunia grinned at him.

"They'd have to untie the knot in their faces first," he said. Karun at last allowed himself to grin.

"Well," he said, "you _are_ Big Brother. I just hope what you know what you're getting us – _and_ Bel and Mel – into. You realize that if they die out there…"

"They won't," Darunia said confidently. "And I honestly think they'd prefer to take that risk, then just meekly accept the alternative. Have you spoken with Acqul?"

"I sent him a message. He expressed the same reservations as I did, but I believe Ruto intercepted his reply because what came back was a rather short agreement to the plan, which more or less screams spousal involvement. At least for the Zora."

"At least for Ruto," said Darunia with a wide smile and a deep laugh. Karun returned the smile, not offended in the slightest by his leader's lack of seriousness on the brink of such a serious battle. He recognized Darunia's way of simply enjoying what he could out of what would likely be the last few moments that had anything enjoyable in them at all. Such was the Goron way. Enjoy what you could, while you could, and when it became impossible, do what you had to do to _make_ it possible again. That was what they had always done. Of everything else that had changed since the start of the Goron race, that had remained constant.

The Gorons would once again remind the Moblins that they could fight as hard as they laughed.

*******

Impa sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose against the headache that had been slowly building up all day. Not even the calm solemnity of the Temple of Time could break through the throb in her head that war always brought with it.

"Well," she said at last, "I'm not surprised. We expected this from the start." Brayden shook his head grimly.

"The Nobles will announce their decision tonight. My rupees are on Durnam. He's popular, has a good image as a kindly, affectionate old man, and for a long time was openly supportive of Link – who is, once again, a hero for at least some of the Hylians. He'll have the best chance of all of them at calming down the masses."

"And that chance is …?"

"Next to nothing," Brayden reported. "The Eldrick's have the whole town in a riotous state, over _several_ issues. Whether Agahnim is a good man or a bad one, whether Link's a hero or a criminal, whether Zelda's dead, or else alive and imprisoned, whether any of the noble houses should take the throne, or it should be preserved for Zelda's return, _if_ she returns, and just about any combination thereof. Castletown's spoiling for a fight, Impa. Durnam could come out tonight and announce that they're bowing down to Eldrick's ultimatum after all and waiting for Zelda to come back or at least proof of her death, and there would _still_ be fighting."

"We need to minimize it as much as we can," Impa said with a dark frown. "We simply don't have the resources to handle a civil war here and the Moblins back at Kakariko – and that's assuming the Zora and the Gerudo won't need back up." Brayden raised an eyebrow.

"You think the Gerudo would call on us for back up?" He asked. "Not with Link gone they won't. We'll be lucky as it is they don't send someone to assassinate Durnam if Nabooru lets it loose that he was directly responsible for betraying Link into Agahnim's hands." He shook his head. "They won't be asking for our help." Impa's face was hard.

"I don't care if they _ask_ ," she said flatly. "We're fighting a war for Hyrule on three fronts right now, not including Castletown. I will not allow any of those fronts to fall for the sake of a decades old grudge. The Sheikah have _always_ stood guard over Hyrule. That has _always_ come first for our people, and nothing has changed that. If the Gerudo cannot hold their line on their own, then we will help them hold it." She shook her head. "But it doesn't matter, I doubt it will be an issue. I have perfect faith in the Gerudo to do as they've always done. Nabooru is skilled and competent and they, like the rest of us, will do their best. Besides, I think we'll be having trouble enough holding our own front, even with the Gorons. The mountain pass is the easiest way into Hyrule for the army of Moblins. No burning desert to cross, no oceans and lakes to swim."

"And the Dark World Zora?"

"Don't let the Zora catch you calling them that," Impa said with a raised eyebrow. "They'll flay you themselves. As for this new threat, however, that will be up to the Zora. We simply don't have the capability to wage an underwater war. The Zora are on their own." She cast a troubled glance out the high up windows. "We are all, I think, on our own." Brayden offered her a slightly crooked half-smile.

"Actually," he said, "I think for the first time in the history of the Sheikah, we aren't alone. We're not the only ones who care about Hyrule anymore, Impa. We're not the only ones trying to protect it. Even the Eldricks, in their own, unhelpful, ham fisted, arrogant kind of way are doing what they can."

"Well," said Impa with a sigh, "I just hope it will be enough." She held out her hand and gripped Brayden's forearm, giving it a stiff shake. "Do what you can here, Brayden. If you could even _stall_ until we've got some idea of the Moblin strength…" Brayden sighed.

"I'll do what I can, Impa, but no promises," he said. "I'm no Bruiser." For a moment a shadow of sadness crossed Impa's face but it was gone the next moment.

"No," she agreed. "You're Brayden. Which is just as good." She stepped back and vanished in a swirl of shadow. He sighed and shook his head.

He was grateful, at least, that he was busy – even if it _was_ a kind of morbid business – as it kept him from dwelling or worrying or cursing the Goddesses for striking out so violently lately at his family. He shrugged his shoulders irritably and turned to leave the Temple but couldn't quite make himself take the first steps towards the door.

This place … this temple had an odd sort of sway over him he didn't entirely understand. Beyond the personal significance it held. This was, after all, the place where he'd eventually been freed from Dark Link's clutches. This was the place where he'd murdered his own son. The place where his son had somehow come back to them anyway. This was the place where he finally got to see Ganondorf defeated. This was the place where so many things had happened. But it was more than that, somehow …

This was the place where he could feel his son in every corner.

The secrets of the Temple of Time were a mystery, even to Link, and it was technically _his_ Temple. And yet it was his favourite place, for no apparent reason. You wouldn't think it, to look at him. The boy was easily bored, entirely too energetic for his own good, fond of company and noise and commotion – and if there wasn't any to be had, he'd make some. And yet, if you were to ask him what his favourite place was, he'd answer here. With nothing but the cold marble of the walls and floor, and the unseen choir, chanting unobtrusively in the background. He always came here alone, when he did come, and if intruded upon, would find a reason to leave with the intruder, rather than suffer the invasion of his temple.

And yet … if you knew him – really _knew_ him – and you came here, it fit, somehow. There was just something about the place that was unalterably, irrevocably Link. Some secret tie between he and it that couldn't be understood, but that didn't _need_ to be understood. It was good enough that it was at all.

Brayden closed his eyes for a long moment, and prayed as hard as he could to the Goddesses that Link's presence existed in this place because he was alive, not just because Brayden himself was terrified he might not be, and _looking_ for reasons to continue hoping.

He wished, fervently, that he could have been there when Rue, Thomas, and Sahasrahla had made a tenuous connection to him, in the Dark World. He didn't know what would have changed, or what he could have done, but he still wished it.

At least he knew that Link, some short time ago, had been alive.

That meant he might very well still be alive.

And so might the others.

And that was what mattered.

He opened his eyes at last and moved over to the door. He opened it and slipped out just as the sun sank behind the hills. He shook his head and pulled his scarf back up over his face. There would be bloodshed in Castletown before the night was through. He moved through the snow towards the Golden Palace and felt his heart harden in his chest.

Night had fallen over Hyrule, and it was going to be a long wait for the dawn.

*******

Acqul stared grimly between the unbreakable chain links of the wall and waited for the night to take its course. The sun had gone down, the waters grew dark, and war was upon them. Already the scent of blood drifted on the water, and from his current vantage point, he couldn't see the fight yet.

The Dark Zora – they had not yet found a more convenient, less offensive name for the beasts – had been engaged, somewhere around the river bend. Acqul spared himself a brief moment, as he usually did, that he could be out there, fighting with his men, as he had when he was younger. But such was the General's curse. You were forced to order your men into places where you could no longer follow. Their place was dying on the fields you chose, and yours was huddled in a safer place with your advisors, desperately trying to ensure that their sacrifices were not in vain. And so it went. His men were dying around the bend against the Dark Zora, and he was left behind the chain gate, scenting their blood, and waiting for his scouts to report.

There were times when he hated being a general.

A disturbance in the water above him indicated the return – at _last_ – of one of his scouts. He resisted the urge to whirl around and rocket towards the soldier.

_Sir!_ The Zora saluted smartly, all but skidding to a halt in front of the Zoran general. _We've engaged the enemy as ordered. It's only a small force at the moment and we're keeping them pinned around the bend. They haven't yet tried to escape overland._ He looked briefly confused at this piece of news, and Acqul felt a bit of surprise himself. The soldier continued. _We're … we're holding the line, sir, but these_ things _are … well they're …_ And Acqul forced his brain away from its machinations and battle plans for a moment to actually _look_ at the scout, realizing for the first time just how young he was.

_Real go-getter if he's in this position at his age,_ Acqul thought to himself approvingly. His own military career had followed a similar path and speed. He realized with a sudden pang of sympathy that the battle for Castletown had likely been the first real battle the young man had taken part in, and while that fight had been nothing to scoff at and the odds had been so desperately against them, the enemies were in a different class entirely from this new threat. The Moblins the boy had encountered previously were, like it or not, at least partly of this world. They had spent so long in it, been born in it (if not _of_ it)…. But this new threat ….

Acqul understood now, what it must have been like for Link to have faced off against Dark Link – ignoring the fact that the shade had been the Hero's father. To be forced to stare into the eyes of everything you've ever hated about yourself. To have it stare back, and grin at you. Like everything dark and nasty you'd spent your lifetime breaking down and locking away so deep inside you even you forgot it existed had been ripped out, shrieking and writhing, into the light for the world to see. Darkness made manifest.

No wonder the just-barley-a-man in front of him looked shaken.

He was tempted, briefly, to reach out and squeeze the boy's shoulder or instigate some other form of physical comfort, but this, he knew, was a side effect of a bit too much time with the Gorons lately. The last thing they needed right now was a breach of propriety added to all the other stress of the moment. So he settled for offering the boy a serious expression.

_The threat represented by this new enemy is unlike anything we've faced before,_ he said, deciding that treating the boy like the equal he was, and had to be, was the best course for strengthening his resolve, _but we will persevere. We_ have _to. For the sake of our own people, and the peoples of Hyrule._ His face took on a distant cast. _I think,_ he said, _that we made a grave error, twenty years ago, when we picked sides as we did._ His lips twisted wryly. _Some ally Ganondorf was, if he'd been harbouring these monsters the whole time we were fighting alongside him._ He shook himself and turned back to the scout. _It's time to rectify that now. This fight is bigger than us, and we can't afford to lose it._ He offered the boy a wide smile. _It would be inappropriate of us, I think, to lose our nerve now, before the fight even really begins, don't you? Hyrule's counting on us. It would be rude to disappoint them._

_Yes sir!_ Said the boy, with another smart salute. He didn't look much happier, but the resolve on his face was firmer and Acqul thought it might have been enough.

_Good,_ he said, _now get back to your post. We have a war to win_. As the boy swam away, making a beeline for the surface and the shore again, Acqul felt a cool pair of arms slide around his waist. He jumped, but didn't turn. That would be Ruto. Only the Sage of Water could sneak up on him like that without disturbing the water. He frowned, pleased but uncomfortable (as per usual) with her occasional public displays of affection.

_Ruto,_ he signed subtly, _the men …_

_Don't care,_ she replied, loosening one arm from his waist to sign back at him. He was amazed once again by her ability to put tone into her sign language. He could "hear", quite clearly, the foot-stamping, temper-tantrum-pending, give-me-what-I-want-right-now-or-I'm-going-to-scream-until-you-do tone that she still, from time to time, demonstrated when she wanted something and sensed an impending no. There was not a Zora alive who had been able to stand up under that tone when she used it, and Acqul – try though he might – was no exception.

_No wonder_ , he thought to himself, _people think Zoran children are spoiled. They are …_

_How bad is it?_ He signed after a moment of letting her cling. She knew how important this battle was, and she wouldn't be seeking comfort now if she didn't need it. She pulled away from him at last and looked out through the gate, towards the source of the scent of blood.

_Bad enough_ , she answered, her eyes going distant as she focused her sense further down the river. _I think we're winning, if that's what you're asking, but they're not … they're making us pay for it._ She shook her head and turned back to him. _It'll be over soon enough. They're running out of soldiers. The survivors are already pushing back towards the Lake._ Acqul nodded. He had expected as much. This was just the preliminary push, testing the defences, trying to see how they were set up. Acqul's face hardened.

Let them see. He had chosen the spot he had for a reason. The bend could be seen as a disadvantage for him, as it meant he couldn't see the enemy coming from in the river until they'd rounded it, but it didn't matter. He had Ruto, and if they were in the water, she could find them. In the meantime, they couldn't see the Zoran forces until they'd rounded the bend. Plus, they were swimming against the current, which, between that and the sudden curve, would prevent any kind of direct charge at the gates.

The blood in the water was thick now, but the scent had stopped growing, and was diminishing now as the current swept it away. The skirmish was over and his men – what was left of them – would be limping back.

The next one, he knew, would be for keeps.

It was going to be a long night…

*******

##  **Chapter 17 (cont.)**

I realize, with a sudden start, that I'm awake.

Oh how I envy those people for whom this is not, in and of itself, a miracle.

I take my time reacting to the realization, however, cherishing those last few seconds of awareness-deprived sleep before the world, and all the nasty things that inevitably come with it, intrude on me once again. It's bliss while it lasts.

I move my hand slowly up to my head, surprised for a moment when the motion makes me aware of my body position. I'm neither on my back, nor on my face. I'm on my side – which is generally impossible, as it's indicative of actual _sleep_ instead of passing out from exhaustion after a busy night running around killing things as a beast.

I jerk upright with a gasp, propping myself up on my hands. The blanket – a blanket! – slides halfway off my back and my pillow's – my _pillow!_ – smiling creases wink up at me. There's no bed to speak of, just another blanket beneath me on a floor, but _still_.

Then, as though my brain is not already reeling from shock, I realize that I'm not in pain. I drop onto my backside, skewing the blankets and pillow and immediately begin checking myself over for wounds.

There are none.

Not a scrape, not a bruise, not so much as a twinge.

This is impossible! I was cornered in a series of tunnels filled to the _brim_ with people! I should be hurt at least as badly as I was the first night, if not dead outright! There's no _way_ I would have gotten out of there like this!

Maybe Duthie…

But no. A quick check confirms there are no cuts on my neck either, so he can't have used his claws on me. I push myself unsteadily to my feet and lean up against the wall, which isn't made of stone. It's made of wood. I blink.

This isn't … I'm not in the caverns anymore.

Is this Blind's doing?

Where am I?

I glance around the room. There's a simple wooden table against the other wall with two chairs and all of my things piled on top (well, I guess it's not Blind's doing …), a tiny window set into the wall to my left, a door on my right. As curious as I am to peer out the window, first things first. I move over to the table and immediately begin slinging back on all of my weapons, taking a mental inventory as I go. Surprisingly, it's all here.

Definitely not Blind.

I fidget for a moment, then hesitantly work my way over to the window. I peer cautiously outside through the warped glass. It's raining pretty heavily, and between that and the distorted image I can't make out much, but it looks like there's a town out there. I can see a hunched figure shuffling through the rain, but any details outside of that are obscured.

"The Cleric," I breathe. "That's who that man was…"

It has to have been him. And it has to have been him that brought me here. This is the Dark World's version of Kakariko, it _has_ to be. But how? How did he? He should have died. I would have … the _beast_ would have killed him the instant it had control. I cover my face with my hand for a moment.

I'm getting so _sick_ of never knowing anything. This constant state of helpless confusion is going to drive me insane…

You know, if the Beast, and the Dark World, and the impossibility of the task laid out ahead of me don't do it first. Farore, maybe I'm already crazy. Maybe I'm actually dying in a ditch somewhere and hallucinating. Maybe I've lost my mind at last. That would be nice. Just be nice and crazy and living in a world that isn't this one. Paradise, really, when you get right down to it.

So absorbed am I, in pondering the pleasantries of madness, that when someone right behind me goes "Boo!" I jump about three miles into the air with a startled shout, scrabbling for my sword before I've landed. The robed figure behind me snickers even as he scrambles backwards, out of my reach. I glare at him with wide eyes and my heart beating about three hundred times a second.

"I don't know who you are, or why you thought that would be funny," I say darkly, "but maybe you should think twice before sneaking up on an armed man and scaring the Hell out of him." He's dressed like the Cleric (assuming my initial assumption about the guy's identity was correct), with thick, heavy brown robes, and a matching cowl pulled up over his head so I can't see his face, but it's definitely not the Cleric. For one thing, the Cleric was wider in the shoulders and chest, and a little taller too, I think. For another, the Cleric carried a level of authority in his posture and voice, and this guy has a different feel. Less unflinching authority, and more casual assumption that you'll listen to what he has to say. It's horribly familiar, but I don't place it until he crosses his arms and shifts his weight with a little "heh", that I'd know anywhere. I straighten and gape at the cowled figure, not daring to hope, not daring to breathe, not daring to look away.

"You look," says the figure in a painfully familiar voice, "like a fish with your mouth open like that. It's not particularly attractive, I wouldn't recommend trying that one on Zelda." He reaches up and pulls down his hood, revealing short, wavy dark hair, a set of eyes that aren't quite blue and aren't quite green, and a smirk that makes me want to hug him until he can't breathe and knock all his teeth out at the same time.

"Also," adds Hunter of the Sheikah, eyes twinkling with amusement, "for someone called the Hero of Time, you scream an awful lot like a little girl…"


	18. A Goddess-Damned Con Artist

#  **Chapter 18 and Interludes**

_I sat alone in the dark one night,  
Tuning in by remote.  
I found a preacher who spoke of the light,  
But there was brimstone in his throat.  
He'd show me the way, according to him,  
In return for my personal cheque,  
I flipped the channel back to CNN,  
And I lit another cigarette."_

-Mary Chapin Carpenter, "I Take My Chances"-

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Renaud watched almost idly as the nobles gathered nervously together on the hastily erected stage and peered out with distrustful eyes at the rumbling mass of people in front of them. They had thought it would lend them some credibility if they delivered their announcement from the ground, in amongst the people, as opposed to from a balcony, high up and safe from the Hylians below. It was plain to Renaud, even from this distance, that they were debating the wisdom of their choice now, and he had to admit it had been a foolish one. There was no avoiding the inevitable conflict to come – his masters had seen to that. Even now, those loyal to the Eldricks were spreading discontent among the gathered mass. Subtly – always subtly – they dropped a rumour here, made a statement there, casually observed something over here, always careful to keep the temperature just below the boiling point.

Renaud was the one who would tip it over if it needed the push. He tossed the rock in his hand idly up in the air. All it would take would be one—

A bandaged hand shot out and snatched the rock out of the air before Renaud could catch it. He blinked and turned to face the rock thief, relaxing when he recognized the tall Sheikah beside him.

"Nice to see passive Sheikah taking an active role in Hylian politics," Brayden commented dryly. He held up the rock. "A bit crude, isn't it?" He demanded. Renaud offered him a quiet smile.

"Crude but effective," he answered. "Sometimes the best tricks are the old ones. And I'm just following orders. Can I have my rock back?" Brayden debated it for a moment, but he knew as well as anyone there wasn't any point. He handed it back to Renaud, then shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to face the stage. For a moment they stood in silence, drinking in the tension around them. Finally, Brayden spoke.

"Was it worth it?" He asked, never taking his eyes off the stage.

"What?" Renaud responded without turning to look at him. "Giving up the glorious, exciting life of a Sheikah to be a lowly servant for one of the most arrogant houses in Hyrule?" He shook his head. "It was about as worth it as anything is nowadays. The Eldricks pay well, and it's really not all that different than what I was doing as a Sheikah, just more … free."

"Hmm," said Brayden. There was another pause. A ripple ran through the crowd as Durnam finally arrived. Renaud tossed his rock up into the air and caught it again. He frowned, not really watching the nobles anymore.

"I was with your son briefly, the night he disappeared," he said as Durnam moved to the front of the stage. It felt like a confession. Like he'd done something wrong. He hadn't, he knew that, but he knew things hadn't gone well for the Hero either, and he'd helped him get there. On the stage, Durnam adopted a concerned, grief-stricken, heavy expression, raising his hands to quiet the crowd so he could speak.

"I know," Brayden answered, his voice admirably free of emotion of any kind. Renaud couldn't tell how he felt about it. "You and Dorian helped him into the palace. I appreciate whatever aid you gave him."

"People of Hyrule!" Durnam called from the stage, cutting off whatever response Renaud had been about to give. "People of Hyrule, please! Come to order! We have some very important issues to discuss!" The noise finally died down as everyone settled in to glare at Durnam, the nobles, and each other. Durnam gathered himself up. "I have dire new," he said. "A war has begun."

"Gotta love the Hylians," Brayden muttered under his breath. "Always the last to realize anything."

"The Moblins of the Great War have returned and as we speak our allies among the other races are doing their utmost to stave off their attacks and keep our kingdom safe. If we are to provide aid to them, if we are to defend ourselves, if we are to survive the upcoming war—"

"Upcoming!" Scoffed Brayden.

"—then we _must_ provide a united front! We _must_ be united under one ruler! The petty squabbling amidst the noble houses – my own included, I admit it – _must. Stop._ " There was a rumble of agreement. This was in fact, the only thing those gathered could agree on. How it was stopped was another matter entirely.

"You have to give the old man credit," said Renaud with a faint smile. "He's picked the best possible spin for this. He may actually win a few more over to his side tonight."

"And further divide the crowd," Brayden said darkly. "Those who aren't sure will be trampled beneath the feet of those who are. At least three quarters of this crowd is armed, Renaud. And the fight will spread from here. Castletown won't know peace until it's burned itself to the ground."

"In light of this," continued Durnam, looking almost beatific in the torchlight, "we, the heads of the Noble Houses of the Kingdom of Hyrule, have gathered together this very night and debated long and hard about the course of the future."

"Then why isn't House Eldrick represented on stage!" Came an angry shout from the crowd, which immediately sent the gathered mob into a riotous burst of shouting and yelling. Durnam desperately begged them to settle down again.

"One of yours?" Brayden asked neutrally.

"Actually no," said Renaud, looking surprised. "That one was legit. But give it two seconds and a chant will start up. _That_ would be us." As though this pronouncement was a cue, a chant immediately started up – " _We want Eldrick! We want Eldrick! We want Eldrick!"_ — which easily drowned out the much quieter counter-chant of – " _Down with Eldrick! Down with Eldrick! Down with Eldrick!"_

It took Durnam nearly ten minutes to calm down the riled masses.

"Eldrick came to our meeting," he said finally. "He came and did nothing but threaten us. He has done nothing but his utmost to instigate a civil war and we will not—" But the crowd had erupted again, equal parts cheers and jeers. The chant started up again. Renaud tossed his rock up and caught it again.

At last, Durnam gave in.

"Fine!" He said. "I bow to the will of the people, as I always have! Is Eldrick nearby? I know you're out there, sir. Please join us on the stage." There was a rumble from the crowd, and a few moments later the easily recognizable figure of Lord Eldrick the Senior parted itself from the crowd; resplendent in black velvet and fur, highlighted in gold. He turned a charming smile on the audience and raised his hands. They fell silent almost instantly, and he could not resist a smug grin at Durnam.

"You bow down to the will of the people do you, you old rat?" He said as he climbed onto the stage. "Do you bow down to their will like you bowed down to Agahnim's!" Renaud tossed his rock and caught it again. Brayden's frown darkened. The crowd was oddly silent, fascinated by the display on the stage.

"I'll not stand here and be subjected to your slander, Eldrick," Durnam said with a scowl. "We are not here to indulge our petty feud any further. We have come here to unite our people and regain some semblance of normalcy. We have more important things to discuss than your petty grudge."

"Fine!" Eldrick said, loud and clear as a bell. "Make your announcement. Dictate the will of the people. Usurp the throne of Hyrule! We will not stand for it! The next words out of your mouth had best be Long Live Queen Zelda."

"He's being a bit blatant, isn't he?" Brayden commented. "This feels like something his son would pull. He's usually more subtle than this."

"He can afford it," Renaud responded. "Look at the crowd, Brayden. They don't really care what happens up there, or what Durnam says. There will be bloodshed tonight no matter what. Eldrick can afford to be blatant." He tossed the rock again as Durnam turned back to face the gathered crowd.

"In light of the death of our beloved King Daphnes, and the subsequent disappearance—"

"Kidnapping!" Yelled several people in the crowd.

"—of our beloved Princess Zelda."

" _Queen_ Zelda," Eldrick inserted.

"We, the noble Houses of the Kingdom of Hyrule – _minus_ the chaos mongering House of Eldrick – decree a state of emergency, and name the House of Durnam to the Throne of Hyrule for the interim, until such a time as a more permanent solution can be found."

"So which one is the rock for?" Brayden asked as the crowd erupted. "Durnam, or Eldrick?"

"Usurper!" Cried Eldrick, his shout echoed by several. "Rats and dogs and thieves! All of you!"

"Does it really matter?" Asked Renaud, and just to demonstrate his point, closed his eyes, drew back his arm, and fired the rock as hard as he could. Brayden never did see which one it hit, as the crowd gave a violent surge at the sight of it and blocked his view. They shouted as one angry voice, and exploded into a riot. Renaud struggled against the flood of people to try to stay near Brayden.

"You say you appreciate my helping your son get to Agahnim," Renaud said as the crowd surged forward around them. "You know it led to his downfall. Why?" Brayden met his eyes as the crowd tried to pull him along with them. His voice was quiet, but Renaud heard anyway.

"Because some of us, Renaud, have a sense of duty. My son did what he had to do." Renaud shook his head sadly.

"As do we all," he said, and then the force of the crowd finally ripped them away and sent them stumbling in opposite directions.

And thus, Brayden thought bitterly to himself, moving as quickly as he could to the edge of the crowd and away from the fighting as the Hylian Guard began to pour into the crowd, adding to the melee, begins the Hylian Civil War.

***

##  **Chapter 18**

"Nayru, Farore, and Din," I whisper, horrified. "You've joined the bloody cult." Hunter rubs his forehead with a dull expression.

"I knew this part wasn't going to go well," he mutters. "And it's not a _cult_."

"Yes it is," I say with a scowl. "It's a cult. It's a goddess-damned _cult_ , run by a goddess-damned _con artist_ , and you've goddess-damned joined it!"

"You know, I don't think that particular oath can be used in that context."

" _How_ , Hunter?" I demand, ignoring his correction entirely. " _Why_? You've only been gone for a _week_! How did this … how _could you_ …you … you …"

"You're acting like I've betrayed something," Hunter says, irritated. "All I've done is listened to a different opinion, with an open mind, and found that maybe it makes a bit more sense than all the other opinions I've heard so far."

"It's a cult, and you've joined it," I say furiously. "It's a _cult_ , and you've _joined it_."

"Yes, I believe that's about the fourth time you've expressed this particular _viewpoint_ on the current situation, which, I might add, is entirely inaccurate. It's not a cult, and I haven't so much joined it as—"

"You did. You joined a cult."

"I didn't, and it's not."

"You did, and it _is_."

"I didn't, and it's _not_."

"You did!" I cry, getting to my feet and throwing my hands into the air. "You did, you did, you did! If you didn't, and it's not a cult, why are you wearing that dress!" Hunter groans and leans back in his chair covering his face with his hands.

"It's not a _dress_ , it's a _robe_ ," he says through his fingers. "I didn't join it, I'm just _practicing_ it, and it's not a cult, it's a—"

"Don't finish that Hunter, because I will go insane if you do."

"— _religion_." He finishes it anyway. I do a very convincing job of going insane.

"You're not Hunter!" I cry, pointing accusingly at the dark-haired person who looks, talks, sounds, and acts like Hunter. "You're not Hunter, because Hunter would never join a goddess-damned cult."

" _God_ -damned, and yes he _would_ , because I _did_ , and it's _not_ a cult." I cross my arms stubbornly and throw myself back onto the pile of blankets I woke up in.

"Lies," I snap. "All of it. All this place has to offer is lies. Lies and dust."

"Ask me something, then," Hunter says impatiently. "Ask me something that only I would know. I'll prove it to you." I scowl out at him from under my bangs and try to think of a question only he could answer.

"Do you remember the time we barricaded ourselves in our room in the Archery Shop and locked Neesha out because she … hmm … well, I can't remember what, exactly, she'd done but it was particularly bad and we wouldn't let her in until she gave us the correct password. What was the password?" Hunter hesitates, eyes moving back and forth as he searches his memory. Just as I'm about to frown at him, he snaps his fingers.

"Yes," he says, "I remember. She'd sabotaged the wash and bleached all our clothes on purpose, including your hat. The password was, Neesha sucks and could never hope to measure up to Link and Hunter who are infinitely better than she could ever hope to be." He grins. "Or something to that effect. If I recall correctly, she slept out in the hall rather than say it, until Dad found her and forced us to let her in."

"When we were captured at Kakariko and thrown in with the slaves and found Bruiser, we told him everything that had happened since the initial attack on Castletown. Out of all of that, what was the _one thing_ he picked up on?" He hesitates again, and then:

"In your own words?" He clears his throat. "'Of everything we told Bruiser, everything from I'm actually your long lost brother's – who's not so lost anymore, just crazy and homicidal and possessed – son, to I'm the King of the Gerudo, and you're the Ambassador from the Sheikah, even after all of that, the _one_ thing he decides to comment on is that we broke the rules of the _Quisrol_. And then he lectured us on it. Like he didn't even hear the rest of it.'" I frown darkly at him and he raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you satisfied yet?" I narrow my eyes and consider it.

"No," I respond finally. "Both of those things other people could have overheard, or we've told those stories to other people."

"Then think of something private," he says with a disgruntled sigh. "Something that was just between us, that never went anywhere else." I narrow my eyes further. It's not that I can't think of something – I _can_ – I just wish it was a different something. For a moment I try desperately to think of something better, but there just isn't anything that I can be as sure of as I can of this.

If he really _is_ Hunter … if this _isn't_ some kind of trick …

"What message were you given to give to me," I say slowly, "by Jinni, on the day she died?" Again he hesitates, and for a half second my breath catches because there's no way he wouldn't _immediately_ remember this, but the next second his face stiffens and he shakes his head slowly.

"She said … God, Link, you _had_ to pick that, didn't you?"

"God _dess_ ," I correct him "And I don't like it anymore than you. Answer the question."

"She told me to tell you that … that you had asked her a question and she had never answered it. You asked her why she followed you, and she asked me to tell you that she followed you because she believed in you."

"Did you tell me?" I demand. Another hesitation, less this time, and then he shakes his head.

"Not at first," he answers.

"Why not?"

"Because it wasn't … I wasn't ready to talk about it yet. I had said some things to her that I shouldn't have. And then after that, between the war, and the planning, and then Dark Link's attack on our camp …"

"When _did_ you tell me?" An even smaller hesitation, then a scowl.

"When we started fighting, Link. Are you done? Are you satisfied now that I'm me?" My turn to hesitate as I stare at him, sizing him up, taking him in.

It defies logic that it could _actually_ be him, but it _has_ to be. No one else would know about what Jinni said. He only told _me_ in a brief fit of passion (okay, so maybe it wasn't so brief), and the message was _for_ me. We never really talk about that time. About Jinni and Ketari dying, or about the fight we had afterwards. It's in the past and we're quite content to leave it there. I've never told anyone, and I doubt _he's_ ever told anyone. And besides … I mean … _look_ at him! It's Hunter! He's Hunter! He moves like Hunter, and sounds like Hunter, and if it weren't for this cult thing I would bet my life he _was_ Hunter.

There's …something…though. I don't know what, but it's likely just the Dark World playing with my head. Anduriel said that although the maidens are immune to the larger parts of the Dark World's power, they may still be affected by parts of it, depending on just how many levels they're pure on. Hunter may be a maiden, but unlike Laruto, I know he's killed before. You don't really live through a war without killing a few people. So that leaves him less pure than Laruto there, so maybe he _is_ being affected, if only a little. Maybe it's playing with his memories, which would explain his brief hesitations. Nayru knows my own seem far away and distant, and I've only been here a few days. I squint at him, hovering between accepting and continuing to deny it.

"Why is this hard for you?" Hunter demands, squinting back at me. "It's not just because of the cult thing, is it?" I avoid his gaze and focus hard for a moment on the ceiling, trying to find the words to describe this to him.

"Because … because it just seems too good to be true," I answer finally. "Hunter, I've been here for three days, but it feels like _three years_ , and I'm telling you _nothing_ is ever this easy! Farore!" I shake my head. "Even for something as technically simple as freeing little Laruto I had to fight a damned giant _Maeasm_ —" no hesitation this time. Hunter gives the typical Sheikan shudder in response to the word "—with the added pressure of doing it on a _strict schedule,_ you know, with the turning into a monster at night and all. Oh, and did I mention being beat up and in pain the whole time? How about the no sleep? Oh," I add with particular vigour, "and don't even get me _started_ on dealing with _Kiki_! Do you know I have no money left? Little monkey took all of it! For pressing a couple of _switches_! And then there's—"

"You do realize you've ceased to make sense, right?" Hunter interrupts with a raised eyebrow. I fall silent, mid-rant, and shoot him a miserable look.

"That's a very Hunterish thing of you to say," I point out.

"It would be sort of hard for me to say things that aren't Hunterish," he points out in an oddly, gentle voice. "What with me being very Hunterish, given that I am, in fact, Hunter." I peer at him for a minute more, wanting, wishing, _willing_ with everything in me that he really _is_ Hunter, and doubting it all the more for the fervent wishing. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I sigh grudgingly.

"Yes," I say finally, because there's really no other answer. "Yes, you are Hunter."

"So you believe me now?" He asks, looking visibly relieved.

"I guess," I say with a sigh. "Though now I'm thinking maybe you're brainwashed or something." Hunter rolls his eyes.

"Oh yes," he says. "Totally brainwashed. Not a thought in my head except those put there by my evil master."

"Or a certain Cleric…" His expression is flat and unimpressed all of a sudden.

"The Cleric hasn't brainwashed me, Link."

"Then why are you wearing a dress?" I demand, coming back, in my usual, circular fashion, to the most inane of arguments I could have possibly made. "Bad enough Neesha's running around dressed like a girl, I don't think I could handle it if you started doing it too." I muster up enough energy to shoot him a weary smirk. "Maiden or not." He offers me a withering look.

"Oh ha, ha. I'm busting a gut here," he says. "I _told you._ They're _robes._ And what the Hell do you mean, Maiden?"

"Oh that's _right_!" I say with a grin, forcing my unease and doubt to the back of my mind. There is currently no other logical explanation for his presence except that he is, in fact Hunter, and I want to believe it so bad I'm willing to ignore those little nagging doubts for now. "You weren't there for that!" I fold my hands across my gut and give him my best smirk, even if I don't entirely feel it. Neesha would never forgive me if I let this opportunity pass. "See … as it turns out, everyone Agahnim took, he took for two reasons: one, they're related to a Sage. I guess you're Impa's great-great grand uncle's nephew twice remov—what is it, what's wrong?" I demand, straightening. He's gone rigid and grey all of a sudden.

"Nothing," he whispers, then shakes his head and clears his throat. "Nothing," he says again, regaining his composure. I frown darkly at him.

"That wasn't nothing," I say flatly. "Are you all right?" He waves me off, offering me a wide smile.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he says. "Just … I don't know, maybe I'm sick or something." I can't help but raise an eyebrow at him.

"Oh? Your new religion doesn't come with health insurance?" It's caustic, and petty, and immature of me but I can't help it.

"And I suppose _yours_ does," he returns dully. "Insofar as it's even a _religion_." I bare my teeth at him.

"At least we don't walk around in dresses." If it was possible, I'd swear his face goes even duller.

"I really do wish you'd get past that." I sigh and force my face to relax.

"Sorry," I say. "I'm … not myself lately." He offers me a conciliatory grin.

"I don't know. It's a very you argument." I throw my pillow at him and he catches it before it hits him in the face and returns it just as quickly. The quick exchange is so familiar and so, desperately like home again that my heart actually aches for a moment.

"Come on," Hunter says, getting to his feet. "I'll show you around town."

"What? You don't want to know what's _happened_ to me since you disappeared?"

"You can tell me on the way," he says, moving for the door as I scramble to my feet. He grabs his cowl and pulls it neatly up over his head, concealing his face once again. "And I didn't hear you asking me how it is I came to be here either, now did I?" I snort.

"Oh yeah, 'cause I care," I say. He drives his fist into my shoulder.

"Ha. Oh ha."

"I'd hit you back, but I don't hit girls."

"I'm glad to see your maturity level is holding steady at _not_."

"Believe me," I say, "if I could be curled up on the floor sucking my thumb and wailing right now, I would be."

"Yeah about that," he says. "Seriously. You _look_ like you're ready to suck your thumb and start wailing. It's really rather disconcerting. Why don't you start telling me what's happened while I've been gone…"

***

"…and that's pretty much all I remember," I finish. "Don't suppose you know I got from the _Quisrol_ to here, do you?"

"Sure do," Hunter replies, folding his hands inside his robe as a stiff breeze swings down through the depressing little town. "The Cleric subdued you and brought you back here."

"Bullshit," I say with a frown. "There's no _subduing_ the Beast. I can _barely_ keep him contained when _I'm_ the one in control, and you're telling me some frail old man 'subdued' it?"

"The power of God is an amazing thing," Hunter says without skipping a beat. Bloody bastard means it too, which only makes me want to hit him more. "I'm _telling_ you Link. The Cleric can help you. There are worse cases here in the Dark World than you, you know."

"Sorry, Hunter, but my soul's not up for auction, I'm afraid."

"He doesn't want your soul, Link," Hunter says with a long-suffering sigh. "He just wants to help. He could do it. He rescued me, didn't he?"

"He did what now?" I catch a hint of a grin from beneath Hunter's cloak.

"You haven't asked me how I'm walking around right now instead of crammed into a little crystal around Blind's neck."

"Blind had you?" For some reason, I am legitimately surprised by this. Hunter gives a derisive snort.

"King of the Gerudo you may be, Link," he says, "but Ganon is King of the Dark World, and Blind is one of his flunkies. One of his _many_ flunkies. He's Ganon's man in a corner of the world that Ganon is rapidly losing his grip on."

"Thanks to the Cleric I suppose," I mutter bitterly.

"Of course," Hunter says. "The Cleric has no interest in Ganon's machinations for power. That's what got him stuck in here in the first place. That's why he'll never be free of his Dark World form."

"Ganon's different," I say darkly. "This isn't his Dark World form, it's his real one. That overly-large, balding man is just a shell."

"How very poetic and apt a description."

"You like it? I'm thinking I'll use it on him next time I see him. I haven't made fun of his bald spot to his face yet. Bet it pisses him off."

" _You_ piss him off, Link. And you're not usually so glib on this subject. What gives?" I shrug uncomfortably.

"Might just be the Beast," I say, knowing full well it's the Beast. "It's … it makes me … a little … I don't know. It's complicated." I cross my arms in a huff and Hunter takes the none-too-subtle hint.

"At any rate," he says, "Blind had me in that little crystal. It was kind of weird. Like being in a permanent state of just on the cusp of the sleep, half dreaming, half waking, but never really sure of what's real and what's not. I wasn't there for very long, though, I guess. I heard the Cleric calling, and when I opened my eyes, there he was and I was awake and nowhere near Blind."

"Then how do you know Blind had you?"

"'Cause the Cleric told me so? I had no reason to doubt him," he adds, seeing the gathering storm clouds on my face. "Why do you distrust him so much? You only met him for a few minutes, and you were probably half crazed by that point anyway."

"I distrust him," I say acidly, "because he's a liar, and a con. There is no _God_ , Hunter. There are three Goddesses. Their names are Nayru, Farore, and Din. A long time ago they made the world, and then they left it, and left behind the thrice damned _Triforce_ that is likely behind this whole _fiasco_ to start with!" This little outburst gets me several dirty looks from the sparse few figures shambling about their lives on the street. I scowl right back at them all. Hunter turns his head and beneath the shadows of his cowl an eyebrow quirks.

"And I could not have made a more eloquent argument for just _why_ it is that I converted, if you will."

"What?" I demand, irritated at the thought I may have just given him ammo like I so often do. "What are you—"

"They _left_ , Link. They created the world and then they _left_." He folds his hands up into his large sleeves and turns back around to face forward, his cowl now obscuring my view of his face entirely. "At no point did I deny that the three Goddesses existed. I know two too many Triforce carriers for that, if you catch my drift. But the fact remains that after the Goddesses made this world, and dropped us all down into it, they abandoned us. They picked up and moved on without so much as a thought to what we might need, or how we would take care of ourselves." I scowl at him.

"We've done a pretty good job of it so far," I say flatly.

"Oh sure," Hunter says, the sarcasm obvious in his voice. "Which of course totally explains why everyone in this little village but me is a monster of one kind or another, and as much as you might moan that it's not your fault, and the Dark World did it to you, the fact of the matter is that it didn't turn you into anything that wasn't already inside you. Yes, Link. We've done a _fantastic_ job taking care of—" I'm reaching out before he's even technically finished speaking to grab his shoulder and wrench him around to face me. I bare my teeth at him in a fury fuelled by horror at his lack of pity, and a sudden sting at what sounds more or less like a rebuke.

"You listen to me," I hiss, planting my face close enough to his to kiss him. He stares at me in shock. "The people in this village and everywhere else in this accursed place are going through more than enough without attitude like that from you, and I know that firsthand. You can't even _begin_ to understand what it's like to have all your worst qualities dragged into view for everyone to see, so don't you _dare_ —" Before I get much further than that something large and hard and heavy slams into me from the side and rips me away from Hunter. I hit the ground with it on top and it asserts its status as a person as opposed to a thing by abruptly trying to bite my face off.

_That_ , I can't help but think to myself as I slam my fist into the side of its head to force it off target, _is a very large jaw…_ The snout slams into the ground beside me and I wrap my free arm around the equally large neck, noting the flash of light off the green scales. I tighten my grip as it struggles and heave myself as hard as I can to the side, forcing it to roll over with me, until I'm on top with a strangle hold on its neck. It shrieks angrily and brings a clawed hand up and tears it down my arm. The smell of blood is suddenly thick on the air and the pain momentarily brings the Beast surging forward full force. I immediately let go of the thing beneath me with a snarl and throw myself backwards before I can do something worse to its throat than just squeeze it. The thing scrambles up onto all fours and lunges at me, causing the Beast to make a sudden, violent bid for control before it can kill me.

_DAMN YOU!_ I shriek mentally at the Beast, unable to do anything more to defend myself than raise my hands due to the internal struggle. _You'll get us_ both _killed!_

"Kilgan!" Hunter is shouting frantically. "Kilgan! _Dammit Kilgan!_ " He throws himself between me and the freaky-lizard-thing at the last possible second and it slams into him, only _just_ managing to avert his claws through a tremendous effort. He and Hunter tumble backwards into me, driving me to the ground once again. The thing scrambles frantically off of us with a sudden, frightened hiss and the Beast, sensing the sudden shift in threat level, gives up the fight and retreats back into the back of my mind to skulk and scowl and wait for the moon. I don't move until Kilgan's pulled Hunter up and off of me, hissing apologies in a desperate, almost whining tone of voice.

"…he wasssss trying to kill you," Kilgan's hissing. "I wassss merely trying to protect—"

"I appreciate your fervour, Kilgan," Hunter says flatly, almost angrily, "but you know how the Cleric feels about violence." Kilgan hangs his head. "And he _wasn't_ going to kill me. There's no excuse for giving in to our darker natures. You'll never be redeemed if you can't resist it. Only those who prove they can rise about this punishment will be viewed as worthy of redemption. This is _your_ test, Kilgan. _Your_ trial. Only you can pass it." Kilgan opens his mouth to say something else, but I've regained my feet already and I level a burning stare at Hunter.

"So trying to protect someone is wrong here, is it?" I demand. Hunter frowns at me.

"Link," he says, "it's not the trying to protect that was wrong. It's that he used violence to—"

"And what if I _had_ been trying to kill you?" I demand angrily. "What if I _was_ actually a threat to you. What if instead of pounding some sense into your fat head, I was just trying to pound your head _in_. What's he supposed to do, just ask me nicely to stop?" I turn to Kilgan and adopt an extraordinarily sarcastic tone. "Excuse me sir, but would you mind _terribly_ if I asked you to please not kill the pompous jackass in your strangle hold? Oh pretty please, with a cherry on top." I turn back to Hunter and scowl at him. "Oh yes, what a fantastic idea, Hunter. That'll work _wonders_. I'll have to try that next time something's trying to eat me."

" _You're_ one to talk about violence being necessary given your own affliction." My blood starts to boil and I struggle to keep my temper under control.

"Oh it's an affliction now, is it?" I demand furiously. "A _punishment_! Isn't that what you said just now! For _what_!" Hunter frowns, but his eyes slide over to Kilgan and he resists the urge to raise his voice to my own level.

"You tell me," he says. "Whatever it is, is between you and God, and—"

"There is _nothing_ between me and your blasted, thrice damned, _non-existent_ _God_!" I explode. I immediately force myself to picture the Beast I saw in the mirror and it keeps me from going for Hunter's throat again.

"Apossstate!" Kilgan hisses at me and I round on him.

"You're damn straight I am," I snarl. "This is bullshit. All of this. Nayru, Farore and Din didn't _abandon_ us, they left us to do what we would with what they gave us. This place isn't a punishment, it's a twisted, destroyed remnant of what it used to be, and it's not because you were bad, or because you weren't good enough! It's because a great, ugly, _pig_ wasn't hugged enough as a child and decided to take it out on the whole damn _world_! I can't _believe_ you," I add, whirling on Hunter again. "Standing here, feeding these people this bullshit about how this is their fault, and it's because of something they've done, and all they need to do is resist the temptation and everything will miraculously be okay again!"

"Because it _will_ , Link," Hunter insists. "You don't know because you haven't seen it, but the Cleric _can_ redeem people through God's power."

"Yessss," adds Kilgan, looking quickly from Hunter to me and back again. "It isss amazing to see. Awe insssspiring…"

"Oh yeah," I say acidly, throwing a casual glance around the gloomy, grey town, with it's shuffling, miserable citizens, "real inspired."

"Whatever," says Hunter with a frustrated sigh. "You'll come around eventually. In the meantime that arm needs to be looked at. Kilgan, since it's your fault he's bleeding, you can take care of getting him to the medic, alive and in one piece. I have other things I need to see to, right now. I'll hook up with you again later, Link."

"What other things?" I demand, annoyed by this sudden abandonment, but he's already gone, bustling quickly through the streets. I glare after him, doing my best to bore a hole into his back with my gaze. Kilgan points up at the sky.

"The cloudsss are clearing up," he says quietly. "The Children do not sssuffer the ssssun to touch them."

"More bullshit," I say, uncaring of the dark look the lizard-man shoots me. "Why the Hell not?"

"It isss sssymbolic," he hisses, though in an awed voice as opposed to a threatening one. "We of the tortured flesh are not worthy of the light of the ssssun. Not until we are redeemed can we be consssidered desssserving of ssssuch light."

"Redeemed," I scoff. "From what? Being unlucky enough to get stuck here when the seals went up?"

"There isss no luck," says Kilgan. "Merely the will of God."

"I'd like to meet this God of yours," I mutter under my breath. "We'll see how long his will holds out then."

"To do that, you would have to be chessmen for Redemption," Kilgan says with a hiss of laughter, "and you, little man, are no clossser to redemption than I if I am to judge by your temper." He pauses thoughtfully and touches the side of his face where I hit him. "And your right hook." I finally pull myself away from scowling after Hunter's long-gone form and glance ruefully down at my bloodied, painful arm.

"Yeah," I say, "you're, uh … you're not so bad yourself. Nice flying tackle anyway. Couldn't really see the rest of it. Claws and teeth, you know." Kilgan bears his teeth at me in what I assume is a grin.

"Perhapssss," he says, with another round of hissing laughter, "we will leave our complimentssss out of our reportsss to the Children." He gestures for me to follow him.

"The Children are the guys in dresses, I assume?" I ask, debating for only a fraction of a second the wisdom of following this guy anywhere given his attempts to kill me not two seconds ago.

"Yesss," says Kilgan, again with a little hiss of laughter. "Though they would tell you they are robesss."

"I know a dress when I see one," I respond. "So what are they? Priests?"

"Yesss," responds Kilgan. "Priessstsss under the Cleric – God'sss ssspokesssperssson in this world."

"Ouch," I say, taking a risk, "spokesperson's got a lot of 's's in it, eh?" Kilgan actually looks abashed for a minute.

"Yesss," he says with a sigh. "The hissssing is perhapsss the mossst annoying part of my new form. Though I made out a lot better than sssome othersss." I think back down the list of 'friends' I've 'made' since I came here.

"Yep," I say. "Yep, I daresay you have."

"You are not sssso bad for an aposssstate," Kilgan says after a moment of thoughtful, and slightly paranoying, staring. "I look forward to your inevitable conversssion."

"Kilgan," I say, all the fight going out of me at last and a bone-deep weariness settling in, "I know about the inevitable. I know more about the inevitable than anyone should ever have to. My 'conversion' doesn't fall under it. I've never converted to anything in my life, and I never will. I am what I am. I am what I've always been; teeth and claws and midnight rage and all. And _that_ , my scaly friend, is the only inevitability I care about."

"That will change with time," Kilgan says heavily. "All thingsss do, excccept the misssery. After all, what elssse, but thisss, isss Hell?"

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Hunter slid hastily through the door of the large building, just two steps ahead of the offending sun beam, and heaved a sigh of relief only _after_ he'd slammed the door shut on the light. It had taken everything he had to remain out there as long as he had and keep his pain hidden from Link – who's eyes were entirely too sharp and his mind entirely too disbelieving for Hunter's taste.

"This," he muttered in a tone meant only for himself and whatever supernatural freaks might just happen to be hiding in the shadows behind him and might just happen to overhear him and might just happen to believe him, "is going to be harder than I thought."

"What has transpired between yourself and the Triforce carrier?" Demanded the sibilant voice Hunter had secretly been hoping to hear from the shadows. He jumped as though startled and whirled around to face the freak; little more than red eyes glowing from the darkness.

"Oh!" He gasped. "Master, you frightened me!" There was an irritated rustle of leather wings, before the freak waved its hand and the torches along the wall brightened.

"What has transpired?" It demanded again. Hunter hesitated, unable to hold its eyes for long. He took some comfort, however, in the fact that the freak apparently didn't know what had been said between himself and Link. That was a useful bit of knowledge and one he would use to its full advantage.

"Nothing in particular," he replied. "The seeds, such as they are, have been planted. I'm merely concerned because I underestimated the Hero's … _mule headedness_ , to use the word his friend would. It may take longer than I originally estimated to convince him."

"I do not like this plan," hissed the Sentinel. "I am liking it less and less the more we speak."

"Master he _will_ convert. We must be patient. This is the most efficient way of accomplishing both your Master's will and calming what rebellious spirit still exists in the area." The thing didn't reply for a moment. Finally it ruffled its wings again.

"We must speed things up," it said. "Show him a redemption. Today. This evening, before he changes." Hunter just barely resisted the urge to wince.

"Master," he almost whined, "Master, please … every time I release this form, the face will fade more and more from me. He will _notice_ even the slightest detail out of place, I'm sure of it."

"Then you had best convert and redeem him quickly," the sentinel responded flatly. "Before he notices the change. Or I will find someone _else_ to serve me. Someone less argumentative and questioning."

"No, no," said Hunter hastily. "No, I … I won't … I mean I will. I just…" Now he did wince. "The sun will still be out … you know I … I can't hold the transformations in the sun. The pain—"

"Is nothing compared to what you will experience should you fail me now," responded the Sentinel without a hint of emotion. "Do not worry about the sun. It will not bother you for this."

"Yes…Master." He bowed low. "Of course."

The Freak swept out of the room without answering. For once, Hunter didn't let his face dissolve into its usual scowl. His brain was already working furiously. What he had told the freak was true: he had indeed underestimated the Hero of Time's stubbornness. He didn't need the memories he was leeching off the boy trapped in the crystal around his neck to tell him that. He'd seen it out in the street. It wasn't even in what Link had been saying – the words were as old and cliché to him as anything else – it was the way in which they were said. He had meant every word he said, and was angry and even hurt that his friend had supposedly converted. But by the same token, he was worn out in every way possible – physically, spiritually, emotionally – and Hunter didn't think it would take much to make him snap. A push in the right direction might send him teetering irrevocably over the edge of whatever precipice he was dancing on.

But a push in the wrong direction could send him over too, and not in any way that was of any benefit. The last thing Hunter wanted was to strike just the right chord within the Hero and _actually_ convert him.

The Hero of Time thought the Cleric was a Con Artist, and he was right. Perhaps all he had to do was feed the Hero the evidence he needed to cement his own convictions and decide to take a stand.

Hunter pulled his cowl up over his head again and moved deeper into the hallways. First he had to find a mirror. He wanted to enjoy the face for as long as he could before it, like everything else, faded into nothingness. He would lose a lot of the details by the time he would be able to take on this form again. But it would be worth it. If his plan actually worked, it would be cheap at twice the price.

_You want a redemption, you monster?_ He thought with a bitter satisfaction. _You'll get one. You'll get all the redemption you can handle, and hopefully a little bit more…_

***

"What's wrong wit' you, anyway?" Wandi demanded sharply. "You been all mopey since we lost the damn kid. Blind'll get over it. He always does, don't he?" Duthie glared at her in irritation.

"You don't _understand_ , Wandi," he hissed. "That _kid_ was the Hero of Time."

"Feh," said Wandi with a dismissive gesture. "You don't believe that, do you? You're a damn fool."

" _You're_ a fool, Wandi. A frustrating, ignorant fool, and you always have been. _Only_ the Hero of Time could have made that sword catch fire like that. It's a chunk of dead metal in anyone else's hands, and it can't even be touched by anyone evil."

"Well so what!" Wandi demanded shrilly, rodent nose twitching in annoyance. "Who cares if he's the Hero of Time! He sure as Hell didn't save us, did he? Last time I checked I's still a rat. Some Hero."

"You're a shrew, Wandi. Not a rat. And besides," Duthie added listlessly, "that's the problem anyway."

"What? That I'm a rat?"

"A shrew, and no," Duthie said, frowning at her. "That he didn't come here to save us. He didn't come here to make things right again. He came here by accident. He's trapped here just like us. Not exactly the stuff of legends."

"Well it doesn't matter now," said Wandi, insensitive to Duthie's irritation, "'cause the Cleric's got him, and we'll never pull him out of there. He'll have him locked up deep inside that fortress o' his and there's nothing we can do about it. So quit moaning and bitchin' and get up offa yer ass. There's still work to be done and I ain't doing it alone."

"What work?" Duthie demanded. "Blind's been gone all day. We haven't got any—" The thick wooden door swung open with a bang, startling them both, and the subject of their conversation flew into the room, still fastening his mask over his face.

"Wandi, Duthie," he snapped, "gather the gang, we're raiding the village."

"What? Now?" Duthie demanded in surprise, straightening abruptly. Wandi cackled delightedly and immediately slipped past Blind to go gather the rest of their group of thieves.

"In an hour or two," Blind said, shutting the door behind Wandi. "As soon as we can get everyone together." The instant the door swung shut, his demeanour changed entirely. He softened almost imperceptibly and his voice grew quieter. Duthie didn't like it one bit. "Duthie, listen to me. They're going to redeem Kilgan tonight." Duthie went rigid and felt the colour drain from his face.

"What?" He whispered. "How do you—"

"I've told you before not to question my sources," Blind snapped. "I know and that's all you need to know. Look, I'm telling you because I know you and he were close before … well, before the Dark World. If you feel the need to slip away during the raid or before it and take care of business, I won't say boo, all right? I'll keep Wandi off your back." Duthie swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Thanks," he said.

"Hey no problem," Blind said. "Just don't tell anyone. I've got an outfit to run here, and if the gang finds out I'll never hear the end of it. _Especially_ Wandi."

"I'm not stupid," said Duthie, rolling his eyes. "Telling Wandi's as good as telling the world."

"Good," said Blind. "Now get your act together and suit up. We're heading out once everyone's ready to go, with or without you." Duthie nodded and immediately moved for the door. He pulled it open and ran out into the corridor, heading for his rooms to gather his things.

Blind stayed where he was for a moment, momentarily surprised by the twinge of guilt he felt as Duthie hurried off. Normally when a plan was shaping up as well as this was he would feel a grim sort of satisfaction. He'd give a humourless smile with the formless slash of a mouth in his lack-of-face. Not this sudden guilt. Now, instead, he pictured her face, fiercely disapproving.

_Ah,_ he thought with a trace of bitterness, _that's what it is_. He'd been helping himself to the boy's memories of her lately – greedily. The Dark World had whittled his own down to almost nothing, but the boy's were still vibrant and colourful and wonderfully detailed. He had a Sheikah's memory and Blind hadn't been able to resist. It didn't matter that the memories weren't his. Just seeing her again was enough. Hearing her voice when he'd nearly forgotten it. Seeing the twitch at the corner of her mouth that could betray any of a hundred emotions.

She'd been the only one who'd ever managed to make him feel bad about his lack of compunction in his execution of plans and plots and schemes. She liked to claim she was a realist, but Blind knew better. Had always known better. Underneath her serious, stony exterior was an idealist. She'd go out of her way to avoid sacrifices where possible, even if it was obviously the best way. Even if it was the most likely to succeed. If there was another option, she'd prefer it. If there was another way, she'd take it. Only when she was forced to admit there was no other, reasonable way of accomplishing their missions would she agree to sacrifices of any kind – idealistic, yes, but an idealistic Sheikah after all. And then they'd pull it off without a hitch, and he'd feel the start of that ecstatic grin, and he'd look at her, expecting the same, and instead, she'd look impossibly sad, somehow. As though their victory, wasn't. As though they had, in fact, lost somehow. It would take all the thrill out of it. It would make him feel bad, if for no other reason than it had made her feel bad. At his worst, it would make him angry. He didn't like guilt. Didn't deal well with it.

_We fought_ , he recalled suddenly, using the boy's memories as a springboard to regain some of his own. _We fought a lot … over stupid things … if only I'd known…_

He shook his head and banished the thought, dropping his hand from where he'd unconsciously raised it to touch the crystal he wore around his neck. His face hardened.

_There are no ifs. Things are what they are, and we were what we were. She's not here to disapprove of my plan, and what do I care anyway? I don't. This place has taken me well beyond the point of caring. I just want this to be over_.

He turned and left the room, but somewhere in the depths of his memories he saw barest of frowns and sad, sad eyes.

_Sorry Impa,_ he whispered to the woman in his memories, _but I was a selfish bastard the day you met me, and for all you changed, you couldn't change that._

_It's time to end this._

***

##  **Chapter 18**

"Do you know him?" Kilgan inquires, watching as I bandage my arm up tightly. It's not as bad as I thought at first glance, thank the Goddesses.

"Who?" I asked, looking up. "Sorry, wasn't listening."

"Do you know him?" Kilgan repeats. "The Child to whom you were … um, sssspeaking." I grunt and turn my attention back down to my arm.

"Thought I did," I answer. "His name is Hunter. He's technically my cousin, but more like my brother – or at least _was_ until this whole … God thing."

"You do not believe your brother would follow God?"

"I thought he was smarter than that," I say with a frown, "but no, I don't … I don't think it's impossible, I suppose. Given the right circumstances … and this place will drive a man to just about anything."

"Then…" Kilgan prompts. I fasten the bandage with a sigh.

"I … look, you know about Ganon right?" Kilgan bares his teeth in a manner that says he knows _all_ about Ganon. "Well Ganon took some people that are very important to me and he trapped them here. One of them was Hunter. I guess the Cleric freed him, or pretended to free him, or took credit for freeing him, I don't know. But … there's still other people…people just as important to Hunter as they are to me. Our … hmm, well I guess you could call her our sister, and his girlfriend, and _my_ girlfriend … consort … whatever, and whole bunch of other people who matter to us. And he… I just … he hasn't even _mentioned_ them since I told him they were captured as well." I look up at Kilgan with a dark frown. "The Hunter I know would have taken point two seconds to concoct some kind of insane scheme for getting them back and then we would have implemented said scheme and nearly gotten ourselves killed in the process I'm sure. I mean, I was actually kind of … kind of _banking_ on it when I realized I might find him here. And now …" I shake my head and get to my feet again. "If it weren't for that, I _might_ believe it. If it weren't for the fact he seems quite happy to just leave our friends and family where they are, I _might_ be convinced his conversion is genuine. But, Kilgan, the Hunter I know would never, _ever_ abandon his friends like that. _Never_." Kilgan looks about as sad as a lizard can.

"But sssometimesss," he says, "people change. Brothersss … brothersss do not alwaysss remain asss they were. A differenccce of opinion, or—"

"I'm not talking about a difference of opinion, Kilgan," I said. "You sound like you have a brother. Like you're talking from personal experience."

"I am," he admits after a moment's hesitation.

"Well, whatever happened between you and your brother … whatever difference of opinion you had, I bet you any money he still wouldn't abandon you like Hunter seems ready to do with the rest of our friends and family. I bet he wouldn't leave you in the hands of your enemy, to whatever fate they may have in store for you."

"I am not ssso sssure," he says with a sad shake of his large head. "We haven't ssspoken…"

"Well _I_ am," I answer him bitterly. "Hunter and I have passed that particular test before. He was there for me then, and he's been there for the others before, and a week ago he would have been there for us at the drop of a hat. I can't believe he's changed that much in seven days. I don't care _what_ he's been through."

"Well," says Kilgan, "perhapsss he'sss found a higher purpossse. All of the Children are required here. We need them. Perhapsss he feelsss it would be ssselfish of him to abandon that caussse for a persssonal one." I glare at him.

"You need him, do you?" I respond. "For what? To sit here and tell you how horrible you are? To tell you how you're being punished? To lie to you about the possibility of a redemption you'll never see?" I clench my fists. "And how is it _selfish_ to want to rescue friends and family trapped by an enemy? Just because they're _his_ friends and family? So what, he should sit here and wait for someone else to rescue them?" Kilgan raises a scaly eyebrow.

"I think, perhapsss," he says, "you're darker ssside is showing." I grind my teeth and reign my temper back in. He's right. I need to calm down.

"Sorry," I say stiffly. "It's hard to … I'm temperamental on the best of days, and these last few have been _far_ from the best of days."

"If you do not mind, I would possse a sssimilar quessstion to you," he says. I gesture for him to go ahead and brace myself. "Why are you ssso offended by the idea of resssisssting our Dark World formsss? Why doesss thisss messssage offend you?"

"It's not the act of resisting that offends me, Kilgan, it's the reasons. Yes, resist your baser urges. Yes, fight back against the Dark World's pull. But do it because it's the right thing to do. Do it because you're better than that. Do it because you understand that however horrible the side of you the Dark World chooses to show you, you know it's not all of you. It's … it's supposed to be tempered by the better parts of you. So you've got a darker side, so what? If you never gave into it before, why should you give into it now?"

"But it isss not merely a manifessstation of our darker naturesss," Kilgan says with a shake of his head. "It isss a demonssstration of why we are being punished. It isss a penanccce that we pay to be redeemed for our sssinsss. Only onccce we've shown that we can overcome the evil within usss will our formsss be ressstored to usss." I give him a dull look.

"So, let me paraphrase," I say unenthusiastically, "you're being punished for being whatever it is you were turned into, and the only way to do something about it, is to sit on your ass and do absolutely nothing about it?" Kilgan looks annoyed.

"That isss an overly sssimple—"

"Yeah," I interrupt him flatly. "The truth usually is. Look, if you want to be 'redeemed', why not get off your ass and _do_ something about it? You wanna know why you're like this? 'Cause Ganon is a jerk. You wanna fix it? Go punch Ganon in the face."

"What would that sssolve?"

"It usually makes me feel better."

"You've done it before?" Kilgan asks, sounding amused.

"Over and over and over," I answer with a sigh. "And unless I manage to free all my friends – with or without Hunter's help – and soon, I'm going to have to do it again." Kilgan looks surprised.

"You would go againssst Ganon?" He demands. "Not even the Cleric—"

"The Cleric is a damn coward," I say with a snort, ignoring Kilgan's unhappy growl. "I will go against whoever I damn well _have_ to go against in order to get this solved and over with, and have everyone and every thing I love home safe again. Yes, Kilgan, I would go against Ganon. I will march straight to his prison of a castle, through his army of Moblins, straight to his door. I'll even ring the doorbell and run because the only pleasure I get out of our inevitable clashes is pissing him right the Hell off."

"Well you're cccertainly ssself confident," he notes, sounding half-admiring, half-incredulous.

"No," says a quiet voice from the door, "just stubborn as a damn mule."

"Oh," I say scathingly, turning around, "how nice of you to come back and grace us with your presence again. Have you come with a new sermon? Determined to tell me how horrible a person I am?"

"No, actually," Hunter says, "I've come to invite you to a ceremony that will be taking place in a couple of hours."

"No can do," I answer coldly. "In a couple hours we'll be too close to sundown for comfort. I need to be on my out of here in a couple of hours."

"Link," Hunter says, and though I can't see it beneath the shadows of his hood, I _know_ he's rolling his eyes at me, "the Cleric can keep you from changing, remember? Why do you think you woke up in a bed this morning, instead of a ditch somewhere else?" I pause. That's true. I narrow my eyes.

"Maybe I don't want the Cleric's help anymore," I say quietly. "I've seen what it's done to you."

"So you'd rather run around killing things all night, is that it?" Hunter demands angrily. "Oh, real responsible. Do you want to put your pride on hold for _two seconds_ here, Link."

"Oh, _my_ pride!" I cry. " _My_ pride! Oh look who's talking! Neesha and Malon and Zelda and Goron-Link and Saria are all still out there somewhere and you don't care and you're lecturing me about _my_ pride!"

"I never said I didn't care!" Hunter says angrily. "At no point did I say that."

"Then tell me why you're asking me to come to a tea party, when Neesha and the others are in trouble," I demand.

"It's not a tea party, it's a Redemption," Hunter says stiffly.

"A redemption!" Kilgan gasps with a hiss of surprise. "But the sun—"

"There's a mass of clouds moving in," Hunter responds. "God provides." He turns back to me. "I told the Cleric you'd want to leave," he said. "I told him I'd talked to you and I really didn't think you could be convinced. I told him we should let you go and at least try to rescue the others—" he holds up a hand to cut me off "—and I asked if I could go with you, Link, before you start accusing me again." I offer him a scathing glance.

"You asked permission to go rescue your friends. How quaint."

"Yeah well, just because you don't know a damn thing about respecting authority and playing by the rules doesn't mean the rest of us don't," he retorts. "Anyway, the whole crux of your arguments seem to consist of two things: one, the redemptions are fake, and two, we wear dresses. You'll excuse me if I disregard the latter entirely. The former, however, we can handle. The Cleric knows you're … indisposed at night, which is when we usually hold the Redemptions. But he's prayed and received an answer. We'll hold a Redemption in a couple of hours – we need the time to prepare – and then you can see for yourself that the Cleric is _not_ a con." I start to shake my head, but Hunter cuts me off. "Link, I _promise_ we won't let you run around as the Beast, all right? I _swear_. No one will get hurt on your account. Please, just give it a chance." I frown at him.

"When it's over will you come with me to rescue the others?" I shake my head. "I don't think I can do it alone, Hunter. It's pure luck as it is I found you so quickly."

"Yes, fine, whatever," he says quickly. "So you'll come?"

"Fine," I say finally. "But you only get one shot at this, and you'd _better_ make sure I don't do anything as the Beast and we're leaving first thing tomorrow morning."

"Done," says Hunter in a relieved tone of voice. "Thanks."

"Yeah," I say flatly. "Sure." I move for the door. "Where's this redemption thing going to be? I'll go now and make sure I've got front row tickets." I couldn't have made the sarcasm in my voice any more apparent, but Hunter is either oblivious or wilfully ignores it. He gestures for Kilgan to stop as the lizard-man starts to follow me and I pull open the door.

"Kilgan, I need you to stay. Link, just head for—" He cuts himself off with a painful hiss and practically jumps back from the door as the afternoon sun pours in through it. He buries his hands in his robes and turns away from the light with a jerk. I pause in surprise.

"Hunter? You okay?"

"Yeah," he says in a pain filled voice. "Sorry. I should have mentioned it, I have a migraine. I really do think I'm coming down with something. Just wasn't expecting the brightness all of a sudden." I make no move to close the door, but narrow my eyes at him.

"You've never suffered from migraines before," I say darkly. "That was my job." He shakes his head.

"Things change, Link. I think I'm allergic to this place. All week I've been having them."

"You know that's a symptom of—"

"Brainwashing, yes Link, I know," he says with a sigh. "Just go, all right? I'll be okay."

"Hmm," I say non-comitally, then turn to go, but stop short with my hand on the door. Gliding in gracefully through the wall is Aeria, her face a mess of angry tears, her transparent fists clenched at her sides. I gasp and immediately twist to see Hunter's reaction, but he hasn't noticed her yet. He's still hiding from the light. Aeria raises an accusatory finger and points it at him. I frown and shut the door, shutting out the sunlight. Hunter breathes a sigh of relief and straightens, but lets out a hissed oath when he spots his mother's ghost.

Her other hand comes up and makes that gesture again, like she's grabbing something around her neck. She points more insistently at Hunter. I turn to him.

"Hunter, what—" She turns to me when I say his name, her expression angry and even more insistent, but the next instant it twists and I hear a thin, far-away wail of pain and despair and her spirit vanished like so much mist. Behind it Hunter stands, whatever expression might be on his face obscured by his hood, his hand out as though he's the one that banished her.

And the worst part is, something tells me that's exactly what happened.

I clench my fist and my jaw and glare at him.

"I don't know what's going on here," I say in a barely controlled voice, forcing the words out from between my teeth, "but I'm going to find out, Hunter. And when I do…" I leave it hanging, turning around and wrenching the door open, ignoring Hunter's sudden hiss of pain again and storm out into the depressing little town.

_I hate this!_ I think viciously to myself, and it's true. Something is wrong. Something is _very_ wrong. With all of it – this town, this cult, Hunter – and I don't know what it is. I haven't got a Goddess damned _clue_ except that I know it's wrong, and I know it's all connected somehow, and I just can't see how.

What does Aeria want of me?

Why did Hunter do that to her?

What the _Hell_ is going on with the Cleric and Blind and these people?

Why, oh _why_ didn't I kill Agahnim the first time I met him?

My thoughts continue in this vein for a while, until I realize that I've been wandering around for the last ten minutes and I still don't know where I'm going. Hunter never finished telling me.

"Can't be bothered to come with me," I mutter bitterly to myself, scanning the street for someone to ask, "took my guide away. No, that's cool, Hunter. I'll find it. I've only been here a few hours, after all. Plenty of time to know the place like the back of my hand. Especially since I spent half of it yelling at—"

" _Pssst!_ " I freeze, blinking at the unmistakable sound of being summoned with a hasty whisper. I cast a surreptitious glance around me and spot a figure huddled in the shadows of one of the ramshackle houses that line the little haphazard street. I subtly alter my course and make for the alley, a weary expression stealing over my face.

The plot thickens.

If it doesn't stop I'm going to suffocate in it.

I open my mouth once I'm safe in the shadow to demand what's going on, but the next instant I spot the long, delicate claws that protrude from the sleeves of the long and there's no need to ask. Duthie pulls his hood down off his face and before I can so much as tense in expectation of some kind of attack he gives me the single, most desperate look I've ever received in my life.

"You have to help me," he whispers. For a moment, words fail me. I stare at him, jaw agape, and then finally clear my throat and blink.

"You, uh … that's not what I was expecting you to say."

"Listen," he says urgently. "Listen, I'm not … I'm not your enemy." I raise a cool eyebrow at him and mime playing cards for my stuff. He winces. "That was _before_ I knew you were the Hero of Time," he says. "Look, I threw my lot in with Blind a long time ago. I work for him and I believed him when he told me you weren't the Hero of Time."

"He lied," I note dully.

"He does that," Duthie agrees.

"Then why follow him?"

"Because I'll take Blind's petty white lies over the Cleric's black lies any day."

"So … given that Blind seemed determined to keep me tied up in a little room, why, exactly, are you asking me for help instead of knocking me out and dragging me back to said room?"

"Blind doesn't know I've come to you," he whispers. "I … I mean _I_ didn't even know I was coming to you until I saw you coming out of that house. I just … you're the Hero, right? You help people, don't you? That's what you do, isn't it?"

"I do a lot of things," I say cautiously. "Sometimes I help people. I suppose you could say that, yes. Depending on the people. Depending on the help."

"Look, I know you didn't come here to save us," he whispers. The note of bitterness in his voice does not escape me. "I know you're here and trapped just like we are. But I … I can't save him alone."

"Save who?" I ask, frowning. He really sounds desperate.

"My brother," Duthie answers. "I … he … we haven't spoken in years, but … but I can't just… they're going to _redeem_ him! Do you know what that means?"

"Um," I say uncertainly, "last I checked it was synonymous with—wait. Wait, you mean the Cleric's Redemption? That's what's happening this afternoon? Your brother's getting redeemed?"

"Yes!" Duthie says desperately. "He's as good as dead if I don't get him out of here!" I blink.

"Uh, you know, I'm not saying I believe in this whole redemption thing, but I don't recall death having anything to do with it." Duthie hisses his irritation and pulls me deeper into the shadows.

"Look," he says, "anytime there's a redemption it can go one of two ways according to the Cleric and his ilk. The person chosen is chosen because they seem to have earned it. They've resisted their dark world forms, been a shining example of goodness, been—"

"Blah, blah, blah, bullshit, get on with it," I say.

"But that's just on the outside. The Cleric maintains that only God can know whether the person is truly worthy of redemption. If the person agrees – and they always do – then they're taken before God in the Cleric's temple. If they're determined to be worthy, when they walk out on the Cleric's balcony they're transformed back into what they used to be – _before_ the Dark World. They might say a few words, or just wave, then they turn around and go back inside and either join the ranks of the Children, or else are sent by God through a portal back to the Light World."

"And if they're not worthy?" I ask. Duthie's face darkens.

"They don't come back out," he says. "God kills them. We never get to see the body. No one knows what's done with them."

"And you think you're brother will be killed?" I ask.

"I think it's all bullshit," Duthie hisses. "No matter what happens I'll never see him again and that doesn't strike me as legitimate." I frown.

"Listen, don't get me wrong," I say, "I'm pretty sure I'm of the same opinion as you, but what if – what if this really _is_ his chance to get out of here? Would you deny him that?" Duthie swallows thickly and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "Not for the world. The … the change was harder on him than on me. But it's …" He cuts himself off in frustration then starts again. "I was a historian, you know that," he says. "I researched the Triforce and the Hero and the Sages and _all_ of that. Anything remotely related to the Sacred Realm. I know all the legends off by heart. They were my bread and butter when I was…well, when I was a Hylian. Before I was turned into this. And I can tell you right now, the redemption is a lie. Nothing short of the Master of the Triforce would be able to remove the transformation, and Ganon doesn't seem willing. Also, the portals are closed. Nothing can get out. The Sages locked us in along with everything else when they closed off the Sacred Realm. None of us were pure enough to get out again. There _is no_ going back. There is no changing back. And of all the things the Cleric promises, that leaves only one option: death. I don't know how he's spinning his illusions, but the redemption isn't. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say. "Perfectly. But what do you want to do about it? Why don't you just explain this to your brother?"

"Don't you think I have!" He demands. "Why do you think we're no longer talking? But he's been worshipping the Cleric and his blasted, bloody God since the start, out of desperation or insanity I don't know, and he won't listen to reason. He won't _listen_ to me. But he might … he _might_ listen to you. If I tell him you're the Hero of Time."

"I think you would be surprised," I note dryly, "at just how often people _don't_ listen to me. What do we do if he's the same?"

"Well," Duthie says simply, "then we smash him really hard over the head and I drag him out of there by force."

"Why hit him?" I demand. "Can't you just…" I mime sliding a claw into my neck. "Worked well enough on me."

"You don't have scales," he notes. "Kilgan's a seven-foot tall armoured lizard."

"Kilgan!" I ask in surprise. "Your brother's _Kilgan_!"

"Yes," Duthie says, blinking at me. "You know him?"

"I've spent the better part of today with him," I say. "So _you're_ his brother." I blink. "And that was the difference of opinion."

"So you'll help me?" Duthie asks desperately. I frown at him.

"Are you ever going to use your claw thingies on me again?"

"If you help me save my brother, I will never use anything against you ever again, no matter who tells me to," he says. I consider it for a moment more, then nod.

"Oh thank you," he gasps. "Nayru, Farore and Din, I was so afraid you wouldn't. Do you know where he is?"

"I know where he _was_ ," I tell him. "We can start there. Put your hood back up and keep the claws hidden." I cast a quick glance around before we both leave the alley, making a beeline for the house where I left Hunter and Kilgan.

I don't know Duthie any better than I know anyone else around here, but he seems genuinely worried about Kilgan. And for some, strange reason, despite the fact Blind had me tied up on a stone floor and the Cleric gave me a bed, and Blind is a self-confessed thief and asshole, and the Cleric is apparently a really great guy, and he certainly seemed nice enough for the two, blood-crazed moments I met him in, I find myself more trusting of Blind and his group than the Cleric and his.

At least Blind is honest in his dishonesty. It feels more genuine somehow.

And Duthie is almost certainly honest in his concern for his brother.

And besides: maybe in helping Duthie save his brother, I can somehow save my own.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Kunim!" Bel shouted, ducking under the slash of a large Moblin sword. She drove her own sword up against the Moblin's buckler, but Mel was ready behind him, taking advantage of its distraction by driving her own sword up into its back through a chink in its armour. It went down with a huge snarl and a crash. Not dead, but crippled, and still reaching for Bel who scrambled out of its reach. Mel ripped out her weapon and finished the job. " _KUNIM!_ " Bel shouted again, waiting until Mel had fallen into step beside her again before moving forward.

They struggled forward through the fight, until finally they managed to grab the large Goron's attention. He slammed his head into the chest of the Moblin in front of him, causing it to stumble back, then followed up by slamming his massive fists – almost as big as the Moblin's head – into either side of it's face, cracking it's skull and sending it to the ground in a heap. The twins ran through a sudden gap in the fighting and bolted to his side. Despite the blood splattered across his face – his or not was a question neither of them felt like pondering – he managed a grin as massive as he was down at them (and he was quite possibly the biggest Goron either of them had ever seen, _including_ Darunia, who wasn't what you'd call petit).

"What news?" He asked in a voice like an avalanche. Bel wiped blood out of her eyes.

"Karun's scrapping the last plan and doing something new. You're to establish a hold on this pass and keep it. Fortify your position. Agani's on his way over from the west pass with reinforcements to help out."

"But if we lose the west pass—"

"We won't," Mel said with a wide grin. "Dune's got a unit of Sheikah stationed there in hiding. The Moblins will make a run for Kakariko through the west pass, we'll decimate whatever they bring, and in the meantime you'll have had time to fortify our positions here for when they come back and try to break through this way—"

"Giving you time to fortify the west pass," Kunim said with a grin. "Excellent. Karun's mind is as sharp as ever. You can bring him back my compliments." Bel mirrored her sister's grin.

"That's our job!" She said. "Good luck, Kunim!" And with that they dove back into the fray, flitting back and forth through the fights as only the Sheikah could. Behind them they could hear Kunim shouting the new orders at his men, changing his own battle plan as he went.

"Is that everyone?" Bel asked breathlessly as they finally managed to separate themselves from the frantic melee. "Please say yes. We've had more close calls today than any person should be allowed to have."

"I think so," Mel replied, spying their horses towards the back of the Goron force where they'd left them. "We've hit up all the Gorons and Sheikah out here. Time to head back and report in for our next assignment."

"Who would have thought redemption required so much work," Bel said as they hastily mounted up and urged their horses into a run, away from the battlefield and back down the mountain pass.

"Assuming this even works," Mel said quietly. "Somehow I doubt running messages back and forth will be enough to get us un-exiled."

"Shut up," Bel snapped. "We'll just kick it up a notch when the opportunity presents itself, that's all."

"Here's hoping the opportunity doesn't get us killed," Mel said darkly.

***

The door flew open with a bang and Thomas gave a violent start. He'd been staring out the window at what he could make out of the battle at the gates (a battle he'd been denied the right to participate in because, "war is no place for a man. You'll just be in the way"). It was ironic, really. Finally past his _Quisros_ , finally old enough to take part in the defence of Hyrule, and where was he? Locked up in the Gerudo Fortress instead of helping out. Even Bel and Mel, who were technically Exiles and Rogue Sheikah, were out somewhere helping someone.

"You. Boy. Thomas." Thomas schooled his face into a shade of Sheikan Neutral and turned away from the window.

"Hello Rue," he said politely, though he was starting to suspect the Gerudo couldn't care less if he was polite or not. Still, he was pretty sure his mother would disapprove of him being rude, especially to what you might technically consider foreign dignitaries of one kind or another. "How goes the battle?"

"It is a battle," said Rue as though that was answer enough. "You still wish to learn magic?"

"Uh…" said Thomas, startled by the sudden shift in topic.

"Answer me. I haven't the time to be in here."

"Well … yeah," he managed, surprising himself. "Yeah, I do. But what—"

"Then come with me," she said, turning on her heel. "I require a new apprentice." Thomas gaped after her for a minute, then hastily scrambled to his feet and chased her down the hall.

"But… but I thought you had, like, _five_ apprentices!"

"I did," she answered curtly. "And I am down to three. All of them too young for battle, and too inexperienced in magic to risk out on the field."

"But I'm not—"

"You, Sheikah, are more than old enough to partake in a battle. You have already received the most basic of training, and even if it was in black magic, the principles are the same at that level. You are old enough to understand some of the more complex concepts. You know enough, I suspect, to be able to hold spells for me if I cast them, and provide me some measure of additional power – and you can do the same for the old wizard. In exchange for your assistance in this, I will make you my battle apprentice."

"What's the difference—"

"I mean that for the duration of this battle, possibly this war, you will be my apprentice insofar as I can teach you anything. I make no promises about after our purpose is accomplished, nor about what I will teach you. Most of our time will be spent on the lines, fighting off the Moblins. The old man may be able to teach you something as well."

"I—all right," Thomas said, because at the moment he couldn't really think of anything else to say. Rue wasn't sounding like 'no' was really an option. He briefly wondered if that was part of being a battle apprentice as well. "And, uh … our purpose would be…?"

Rue opened the doors out of the fortress and onto a scene that looked much more frightening up close, than it had from the fortress window. He could barely hear over the din of metal against metal, and Gerudo screaming at each other and the Moblins beyond the gate, and the Moblins screaming back, and the sound of people dying and refusing to die everywhere. Rue looked out on the scene with an expression of what might have been fierce satisfaction, tempered with a bone deep weariness.

"To end the life of as many Moblins as we can before they end ours," she said. "Steel your courage, boy. We're going up on the walls and you'll have a full view of everything going on beyond them. Have you ever seen battle before, boy?"

"Not … like this," Thomas admitted, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden.

"You'll be a veteran within the hour," said Rue unsympathetically. "And all that goes with it."

***

"Oh!" Marni gasped, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. "Oh my Goodness! L-Lady Impa!" She dropped into an immediate curtsey, almost as low as she could make one ( _almost_ , because though the Lady Impa was an extremely important person, she was _not_ Queen Zelda, and therefore naturally didn't get the full curtsey (which was not to say Marni held hard and fast to this rule all the time. She had been known, on occasion, to give Sir Link a full curtsey, but in her mind, he would without a doubt be King Link someday anyway, so she didn't really think it was _that_ large a breach)). She realized a split second later that Cota was staring up at Impa and not, in fact, bowing, so she snatched his shirt-front with her hand and dragged him down into a low bow.

"Cota," she hissed at him. "Behave!"

"Lemme go!" Cota hissed back, fighting with her hand, but Marni had a grip of steel when she wanted to, and despite all she'd been through, she wasn't about to suffer any member of her family to show such disrespect to the guardian of the Queen Zelda.

"Thank you Marni, Cota," said Impa quietly, nodding her head to them (a gesture which, when coupled with the fact that Impa even knew their _names_ made her feel faint). "Please. Rise." Marni released Cota, who straightened abruptly and angrily straightened out his tunic. Marni rose more slowly and failed to make her eyes any smaller.

"Hey!" Said Cota brazenly, frowning up at Impa. "Can we go home now?"

"Cota!" Marni cried, then abruptly stepped between him and Impa, curtseying again. "I'm so sorry, Lady Impa!" She gasped. "He's … he's just a boy! He doesn't know any better."

"I'm thirteen!" Cota said indignantly.

"Cota!" Marni hissed. Impa's lip twitched with what might have been a smile, but which Marni was absolutely certain was barely suppressed rage. "Oh please!" She gasped. "Please! I'm so sorry!"

"Don't trouble yourself child," said Impa. She looked at Cota. "I'm sorry, Cota," she said simply. "But you can't go home yet." Cota looked crestfallen.

"Why not?" He asked.

"I am afraid," said Impa gently, "that a civil war has begun in Castletown. It would be entirely too dangerous to send you home right now."

"Oh no!" Gasped Marni.

"What do you mean, a civil war?" Cota asked. "You meant like with Moblins?"

"I'm afraid not," said Impa. "It's a war of Hylians against Hylians. They're fighting over who should rule Hyrule." Cota rolled his eyes.

"Duh," he said. "Zelda." Impa gave him a small smile.

"Thus we come to my real reason in visiting you," she said. "Marni, I haven't much time, but I wanted to personally thank you for your loyalty to Zelda during this time. To have served her as you did, and at such great personal risk, was exceedingly brave of you and I cannot begin to express my appreciation. I'm sure that, wherever she is, the Princess—the _Queen_ ," she corrected herself, "feels the same. You have earned the respect and the protection of the Sheikah for your actions, young one. And that applies to your family as well. I promise you, we will do our utmost to get you home safe again."

"T-Thank you," stammered Marni, unsure of what to do with the praise from someone so obviously important. Before Impa could respond, however, a male Sheikah ran by the door, skidded to a halt, and abruptly ran back.

"Impa!" He gasped. "Sorry to interrupt, but Dune needs you up top!"

"All right, I'm coming," she said, then turned back to Marni and Cota. "Thank you again," she said as she moved for the door. "You've done your family proud. Zelda is lucky to have subjects such as you."

Marni could do nothing for a long moment but stare after Impa in shock. Cota looked from her, to the place where Impa had been, and back again for a long moment, then shrugged and yanked on her hair.

"Ow! Cota!" Marni gasped, whirling around on him.

"You looked like a frog just waiting for a fly," he said, making a face at her. "I had to do _something_." His face took on a thoughtful look. "Hey, I think I've seen her around the palace, you know?"

"Oh!" Marni said in frustration. "Cota, you foolish boy! From now on, follow my lead. If I curtsey, you bow. And don't speak unless spoken to! She's a very important woman, Cota. _Very_ important. Oh, I hope you haven't offended her." She fumed in silence for a moment. Cota gave her an annoyed look and promptly tried to look aloof. Finally, however, he broke the silence.

"So … Hylians fighting Hylians, eh?" Marni felt her annoyance bleed out of her. Cota felt insecure all of a sudden. "You think everyone's okay?"

"Of course they are, Cota!" She said, moving over beside him and wrapping her arms around him. "Everyone'll be just fine. You'll see." He debated for a moment shrugging off her hug, but decided at the last minute that perhaps he didn't feel like being tough right now after all and turned into the hug instead.

"I wanna go home," he whimpered quietly. Marni kissed the top of his head, but said nothing.

What was there to say?

***

##  **Chapter 18 (cont.)**

I hold out a hand to stop Duthie and pause, cocking my head to the side.

"This way," I whisper, heading left down the corridor.

"How do you know?" He demands. My face goes flat.

"I wasn't lying to you when I said I change at night," I tell him darkly. "You know what my Dark World form is? I'm a lycanthrope. I change when the sun goes down into a monster. The closer we get to sunset the better my senses get. I guess it's kind of a … a pre-change-change, you know? Anyway, we're still early, but I'm pretty sure I caught a whiff of Kilgan down this hall and it's the best lead we've got."

"That's got to be, uh …"

"Crippling? Infuriating? Mind-bogglingly inconvenient?"

"Uh … yeah."

"All of the above," I say with a sigh. "Believe me." I come to a stop beside one of the many non-descript doors lining the hallway and take a second to breathe in the air around me.

"In here I think," I say, but hesitate.

"What's the problem?" Duthie asks in a hushed whisper.

"I … I don't smell anyone else in there with him, but I think I hear—" I hiss suddenly, and grab Duthie, pulling him with me against the wall behind the door, just as it opens, hiding us behind it.

"Congratulations, Kilgan!" Hunter is saying as he leaves the room. "And good luck! I'll be back soon to pick you up for the ceremony."

Right. So my sense of smell is still worth Jack until later in the evening. Either that or Kilgan's scent is just overpowering…

We wait until the door falls shut of its own accord and Hunter has disappeared around the corner, before hurriedly opening the door and darting into the room before any more Children come in. Call me crazy, but I doubt they'd be happy to see us snooping around their temple.

The room we enter into may as well be a cell. There are no windows, no decorations, not even really furniture. There's a stiff, uncomfortable looking wooden cot against the wall, and that's it. The walls are as nondescript as the door, made of boring, cold grey stone. I think I would go crazy living in a place like this.

"Apossstate!" Kilgan gasps, ignoring Duthie's still hooded form entirely and coming towards me. He reaches out and wraps his arms around me, lifting me into the air and squeezing me hard enough that something – I'm pretty sure it's my ribs – creaks in protest.

"Hey big guy," I gasp. "Please let me go!" He drops me obediently and offers me a large, lizardy smile, filled with large, lizardy teeth.

"You're not sssupposssed to be here!" He hisses happily. "But I'm glad you came! I have been chosssen!"

"Kilgan, listen to me—"

"I know you don't believe in the Cleric," he continues, oblivious. "But you will after tonight, and I could not be happier that it will be me who will be able to help you sssee the truth!"

"Kilgan," says Duthie in a quiet voice, pulling his hood off, "you're the only one here who can't see the truth." I groan.

"Duthie, could we maybe do this in a non-confrontational way please?"

"Duthie!" Kilgan gasps, then abruptly narrows his eyes and turns to me. "Why have you brought him here?"

"He asked me to," I respond uneasily. "He's worried around you, Kilgan. He told me you were chosen for Redemption and—"

"How do you know of that?" Kilgan demands, turning back around to Duthie. "The Chosssen is alwaysss kept a sssecret until the ccceremony!"

"Blind told me," Duthie responds.

"How doesss Blind know?"

"Because your Cleric is as transparent as glass, Kilgan," Duthie says with a glare. "Can't you see he means to kill you?"

"Kill me!" Kilgan cries, and I gesture desperately for him to keep his voice down, shooting a nervous glance at the door. "He isss going to sssave me!"

"He's going to _use_ you!" Duthie hisses. "Use you like he always has!"

"Why? Why would he kill me?"

"I don't know!" Duthie cries. "Except maybe to make the people here believe in him more."

"Only a redemption—"

"The redemptions are _fake_ , Kilgan!" Duthie says. "They _have_ to be!"

"Just becaussse you cannot sssee—"

"I can see just fine!" Duthie cries, and I hiss at him to quieten down. "I can see that they're trying to take my brother away from me again – _permanently_ this time! I can see that they've pulled the wool so far down over your eyes they're going to hang you with it and you'll let them too, you thrice-blinded fool!" Kilgan's face goes as still as stone.

"Leave, Duthie. I'm through ssspeaking with you."

"Dammit, Kilgan!" Duthie say desperately. " _Think_ about this! They're going to kill you!"

"My life isss the Cleric'sss to do with asss he will."

"I'm _telling_ you, Kilgan, the Redemptions are fake! They're impossible! You know it as well as I do! You've read the legends! You know how the Seals work! They're unbreakable! And so is the Dark World's spell! Link, tell him!"

"Kilgan," I say as gently as I can manage, "it's true. I've told you. Ganon controls the Dark World, or did, once upon a time. And that was enough. The Cleric can't break the spell of the Dark World. Not unless he's got the Triforce, whole and complete."

"Well maybe he doesss," Kilgan hisses stubbornly. "Don't underessstimate the power of—" I pull off my glove and raise my hand. Glittering in the torchlight is the little golden Triforce that perpetually sits there.

"He doesn't," I say slowly. "I assure you. And I know for a fact that even holding a piece of it isn't enough to break the spell of this place."

"The Triforce," Duthie says, his face going pale. He stumbles back a step from me. "You're a Triforce carrier!"

"Triforce of Courage to be exact," I say, pulling my glove back on. "And I'd appreciate it if that knowledge didn't go beyond this room. To either Blind _or_ the Cleric, thank you." Kilgan, however impressed, remains resolute.

"God has powersss beyond thossse of the traitorousss Goddessssesss," he says stubbornly. "The Triforccce is merely a relic of their passssing. It's a pale imitation of their powersss. God isss here now, and hisss power is absssolute, and tonight I will be redeemed."

"Dammit, Kilgan!" Duthie shouts, lowering his voice when I gesture frantically at him. I move over to the door and pull it open a crack, peering out into the hallway. "If you won't listen to the Hero of Time, who _will_ you listen to?"

"God," says Kilgan stiffly. "And no other."

"Dammit," I hiss. "Duthie, make it fast. Three Children making a beeline for us." I slip the door shut. "We've got maybe five seconds."  
"Kilgan, _please_ ," Duthie says, and I realize with a start that he's begging now. Kilgan realizes it too and he blinks. " _Please._ " He cuts himself off and lowers his gaze. "Look," he says quietly. "Look, I know … I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms, but I'm not … Kilgan I don't want you to die, all right? I'm just … I'm just trying to protect you." Kilgan's face softens almost imperceptibly, something in this display getting through to him at last, but before he can speak, he's interrupted.

"He doesn't need your protection," says an angry voice from behind us as the door opens. "He has God's. What are you two doing in here? No one is supposed to see the Chosen until the ceremony."

"I got lost," I sort-of lie, turning around to give Hunter a dull look. Not surprised it's him. I raise a cold eyebrow at the two, rather large people in robes and cowls behind him. "Oh isn't that cute. You brought friends!" An unmistakable scent swims in the air; diluted, disguised, but there's no fooling the Beast's nose. Those aren't people.

"I heard shouting," Hunter responds stiffly, "and didn't know what I was getting into. Better safe than sorry. Who is this?" He frowns at Duthie. "I don't recognize you."

"He's lost too," I answer before Duthie can. Hunter frowns at me.

"You're lying," he observes. "Blatantly."

"What are you going to do about it?" I demand, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at him. "Arrest me? Have your 'back up', there, _convince_ me to tell the truth?" He rubs his forehead in his trademark, _good-Goddess-you-are-getting-on-my-nerves_ way.

"Two hours, Link," he says wearily. "I ask you to behave for _two hours_ and you can't even—"

"Whatever," I interrupt. "You didn't tell me where the stupid ceremony takes place, so it's not my fault I got lost, it's yours. I wandered in here and found this guy. He was lost too. So we went looking for one of you people and found Kilgan, and, for the record, we're _still_ lost. So unless you feel like being helpful…" He narrows his eyes at me and turns to the "men" behind him.

"Please escort Link and his _friend_ to the courtyard. Kilgan, I apologize for the disruption." Kilgan, who had been frowning uncertainly at Duthie shakes his head and turns to Hunter.

"It isss … no matter, Child," he hisses softly. "Perhapsss they will be inssspired by the Redemption and repent."

"Perhaps," says Hunter as his goon squad moves into the room and try to herd Duthie (who has a heartbreakingly mingled miserable and desperate expression on his face) and I out. I bare my teeth at them.

"Lay a hand on me," I tell them flatly, "and I'll rip it off and eat it." That stench is still there, but I can't believe it. Hunter would never…would he?

"Kilgan," Duthie says, backing away from the goons. "Kilgan, _please_! Don't do this! They're going to kill you!"

"Get them out of here!" Hunter hisses. "Before they upset the Chosen more. Don't hurt them, though! Just take them to the courtyard and keep them there." Duthie dodges the one trying to grab him and bolts back into the room.

"Kilgan!" He reaches for his brother, but the goon twists and grabs him by the collar of his robe, jerking him roughly back.

"Hey!" I snarl, moving towards him. The second goon spots my movement and reaches to grab me as well, but I'm not about to let some two-bit lackey get the better of me – especially not if my nose isn't lying to me. My hand rockets over my shoulder and I rip the Master Sword out of its sheath. It comes free with a clear, ringing sound – pure, even in this place – and immediately ignites with blue fire. The two goons gasp and drop back from it, dragging Duthie back with them. Only Hunter remains unfazed by it.

That confirms it, and something in my own heart breaks. I narrow my eyes.

"Well that's a funny reaction," I note stiffly, turning to look at Hunter. "They know the fire's only really dangerous to evil things, right? You know what else is funny?" I scowl at him. "They're built like Hylians, or maybe Sheikah, and I can kind of see the lines of that type of face under their hoods, but I smell something else entirely." Hunter frowns at me.

"Put your sword away, Link. That's completely unnecessary."

"Hmm," I say. "At the risk of sounding like a five year old—"

"Far too late for that."

"—you're not the boss of me, Hunter. And you never have been. So shut up." I turn back to Kilgan. "You've heard what he has to say," I say, nodding my head at Duthie. "And you've heard what I have to say. We've apparently worn out our welcome and we aren't going to be able to talk much longer. Kilgan, are you _sure_ what you're doing—"

"With all due ressspect, Apossstate," Kilgan interrupts me. "I know what I am doing. I am going to God. I will asssk him when I sssee him to take care of you both."

"Kilgan, _no_!" Duthie shouts. " _Please_!" The guy holding him jerks roughly on his collar.

"Duthie," Kilgan says softly, "I underssstand that you are afraid for me, now. I underssstand, and I forgive you."

"Oh, keep your forgiveness!" Duthie responds harshly. "You stupid beast! You can't even see they're going to—"

"Enough!" Hunter says finally, throwing his hands up in the air. "We haven't got time for this! The ceremony starts soon and Kilgan isn't even properly prepared yet! He's made his choice, gentlemen. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you could just be happy for him, like everyone else." I turn back to Kilgan and meet his gaze. He gives me his lizard-y smile and nods as though nothing is wrong with the world. Duthie looks like he wants to cry. I turn to the goon holding him.

"Let him go or I do more with this sword than just make it glow," I say darkly. He does nothing. I take a step forward, but Hunter puts out a hand to block me.

"Just do it," he snaps at the goon, who reluctantly obeys. Duthie refuses to meet Kilgan's gaze.

"Come on, Duthie," I say softly. "Let's go." He looks from me to the goons and back again, then finally slumps in defeat and moves after me, the goons less than two steps behind.

"We can't just leave him," he whispers to me. "I know he wants this, but it's not—"

"There's nothing we can do right now," I hiss back as they lead us out the door and down the hallway. "Kilgan's made his choice and there's no changing it. They've got him too brainwashed for that. We have to wait for the opportune moment, or they're going to do a lot worse to us than just escort us to this courtyard to watch the show."

"What are you talking about?" Duthie demands in a hiss. "Two little nobody Children? We could drop them in—"

"They're not _Children_ , Duthie," I snap. I cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder at the hooded 'men.' "They're Moblins." Duthie's eyes widen.

"What?" He whispers. "But that means—"

"What we need is a distraction," I say.

"Blind!" Duthie gasps suddenly, then promptly lowers his voice as the goons lean forward to try to hear what we're saying. "Blind's going to attack during the Redemption ceremony," he whispers urgently to me, shielding his mouth from our two silent guards. They quicken their pace, as though to force us apart, but I stop dead in my tracks, whirl around, and raise my hand to my sword. They stop, and finally back off when I don't move my hand. I glare at them, release the hilt, and turn back to Duthie.

"That'll be our chance, then," I tell him. "When Blind attacks, we use the raid as cover to get back in and go to plan two. We'll drag Kilgan out of there by force if we have to." Duthie looks troubled.

"What if it's too late?" He whispers. I shake my head grimly.

"Pray that it won't be."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"What're we waitin' for?" Wandi demanded shrilly. "Why ain't we just attackin' 'em? They's sittin' ducks, ain't they? We should be—" The group groaned practically as one.

"Shut up, Wandi," snapped the one at the head. "We're waitin' for Blind's signal." She bared her little, rodent teeth at him.

"I'm just askin'," she responded angrily. "No need to bite my head off."

"You're _nagging_ , Wandi," he responded irritatedly. "You _nagging_ , like the shrew you are, so just _shut up_. We're waiting for Blind's signal. That's why we're sitting here doing nothing, all right? You know how this works. There'll be plenty of plunderin' once we get the signal, but until then, we sit here and we wait."

"We been out here for _hours_ ," she moaned, slouching in her mounts saddle. It gave an irritated huff at the shift and pranced sideways, nipping at her foot with nasty looking teeth. She kicked it mercilessly in the side and forced it to settle down. The mounts had been Blind's idea, of course. Great, black brutes, they were, with a foul temperament and a mean streak that required a great deal more intelligence than you usually expected from a horse. Hell's Calvary, Blind had called them, and then promptly refused to say where he'd gotten them or how he'd tamed them (insofar as you could call them tamed. It was a thin line), but that was Blind for you. Everyone knew better than to ask him how he knew the things he did, or where he got the things he did. Suffice it to say he knew them and he got them, and he'd never been wrong.

So they'd sit there and they'd wait for his signal like good little thieves and raiders. Because they all knew once he gave it, it would be worth every second of the wait. They'd rip down into the miserable little town and show those goody-two-shoes know-it-alls what they thought of their fake God.

_Teach them to think they're better'n us,_ Wandi thought nastily to herself, staring eagerly down at the little grey town. _Show them who's boss. Miserable little worms. Feh. There ain't no use denying that we're all horrible and ugly, outside and in. Maybe they needs a bit of remindin'._

"Hey!" She said suddenly, straightening and craning her neck, "the Hell's Duthie?"

***

##  **Chapter 18**

Duthie and I stand, tense and unhappy, in the middle of a crowd of ecstatic people of more varied shapes and sizes than you might consider standard, lost in the throes of their worship. On a tall balcony overlooking the wide-open courtyard in the centre of the town the Cleric stands, face hidden deep in his cowl as always, half buried in the shadow of the wall, his hands raised in a gesture of benediction over the gathered throng. He speaks with a voice deep and warm and melodious. I can almost understand how you might give into his way of thought, if for no other reason than to keep that voice going. In a world where nothing is good, his voice is like music, and I suppose if you'd been trapped here for years that might be enough to convince you to follow him. How could something so beautiful be lying, you'd wonder, because you've forgotten what beauty is.

And you've forgotten that it lies all the time.

A stiff wind blows down through the courtyard, clearing the air of the scent of the crowd for a moment and I turn my face into it, enjoying it while I can. There's about a hundred people crammed in here, and the same number of Moblins pretending to be people. They're smaller than any Moblins I've ever seen (I was under the impression Moblins came in three sizes, large, extra-large, and Goddess-Damned-Huge, but these ones aren't that much taller than your average man), but there's no mistaking the stench. It's strong enough to my heightened senses that I'm stunned I didn't notice it earlier, but such is the downside of enhanced senses, I suppose.

Speaking of which…

I pull my glare away from the Cleric's form and stare up at the sky. There's maybe an hour left until the moon comes up. The Cleric better hurry this up and do something about the Beast or I'm going to do something everybody regrets. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the front. This was a bad idea. I never should have agreed to this.

"Where's Blind?" I hiss at Duthie. Duthie shifts his weight uneasily.

"He likes to make an entrance," he responds nervously. "He'll wait for a dramatically appropriate moment before giving the signal."

"We might not have time to wait for a dramatic moment," I mutter, but low enough that Duthie doesn't hear. He doesn't need me confirming what he already knows. The Moblins pretty much confirmed what I'd been afraid of. The Cleric's the biggest hack of them all. I don't know what they're planning to do with Kilgan, but I'm not taking the chance.

"And now," calls the Cleric, forcing me to pay attention again (not that I ever _had_ been), "press your hands together in prayer for your brother Kilgan – our Chosen!" Duthie tenses beside me as Kilgan steps uncertainly out onto the balcony, long snout not quite hidden in the cowl of his robes. He bows jerkily at the crowd then swings his head back and forth – scanning for us, no doubt. Duthie's shaking his head beside me.

"Don't do it," he whispers desperately, as though Kilgan can somehow hear him. "Oh Farore, Kilgan, don't do it…" The Cleric leans over and says something to Kilgan that doesn't travel to the crowd, and Kilgan nods and steps back into the room behind the balcony.

"Now please," says the Cleric, "continue your prayers in silence as I take the Chosen to meet with God and be judged! Pray for your brother, and pray for yourselves!" And with that, he disappears through the balcony door, into the darkness beyond.

"Where's Blind…?" I mutter under my breath, craning my neck to peer around through the loosely gathered buildings of the town at the hill towards where I suspect Blind's lair to be. "Dammit …"

A long moment passes, the silent prayers oddly deafening. All around us people have shut their eyes, some have dropped to their knees, and they all pray fervently. They pray to a false God, for a lost soul, who's time is likely counted in seconds. And the one person in here praying to the real Goddesses ("Oh Nayru," Duthie moans under his breath. "Oh Farore, oh Din.") is going to be drowned out by the crowd.

The moment stretches unbearably, and I'm just about to throw up my arms and draw my sword to start the fight anyway, when a motion on the balcony catches my eye. A cowled figure stumbles out from the shadows, gripping the rail of the guard so tight his knuckles go white. The crowd draws in its breath, and I can't help but do the same, holding it as the figure lifts a shaking hand to its cowl and slowly pulls it back off its face.

A young, black-haired, green-eyed Hylian man stares back out at the crowd with a look of awe and wonder on his face. The crowd interrupts into a sudden, deafening cheer, chanting Kilgan's name as he offers them a shy smile. My gut feels like lead. It can't be. It's not possible! Can the Cleric really—

Duthie grabs my arm and squeezes it tight enough to make it hurt and I turn to him, expecting him to look shocked and maybe even a bit disappointed, but what I see instead is a mask of complete panic.

"Link!" He hisses. "Link! That's not Kilgan!" I blink, attention dragged away from the man on the balcony.

"What!" I gasp. "What do you—"

"Kilgan's blonde!" He says desperately, grabbing the front of my tunic in his claws, as though afraid if he lets me go I'll fall into the deception (I'm just afraid he's going to rip my tunic), "he's blonde and he's short and he's nowhere near that good-looking! That isn't him! It's a fake!" I look back up at the man on the balcony and narrow my eyes.

"You're sure?" I ask.

"Positive! That's not my brother!"

"Goddess dammit," I hiss. "We can't wait anymore. It may already be—agh!" As though my words were a cue of some kind, a blinding red light explodes above the building we're all staring at. The crowd cries out as everyone shields their eyes.

"That's the signal!" Duthie gasps, but the warning is unnecessary. Once the spots in front of my eyes clear, I spot a large group riders cresting the hill behind the building. The horses look like something out of Epona's nightmares. Great, black beasts pounding down the hills towards the little town, frothing at the mouth and chomping at the bit. On their backs their riders urge them on, driving their heels into the horses' flanks – all of the riders wear the cat arm badge that marks them as Blind's thieves.

"We're going. Now." I say, then point at the riders. "Blind!" I shout. "It's Blind!" The crowd breaks into a panic, my guards whirl to look at where I'm pointing and I've grabbed Duthie and thrown myself into the throng before they can stop me.

"We need to get into that building," I shout at Duthie over the crowd's frantic screaming as they try to flee the courtyard in all directions, overrunning each other and Children as they go. "Third floor. That's where the balcony is."

We're almost at the door when it bursts open and a half dozen of the Children spill out into the courtyard, trying to find the source of the commotion. I don't even hesitate. I reach over my shoulder and rip my sword from its sheath. It explodes into blue fire and I point it at the Children.

"Move!" I snarl. I'm surprised, and a little disappointed when they do just that. Guess they're caught between revealing themselves as Moblins, or letting me through, and they've chosen option number two.

Ten rupees says it won't be that easy once I'm in the building and away from any faithful witnesses.

I slam into the building, Duthie hot on my heels.

"We're under attack!" I scream, sending everyone within hearing distance into a panic. "Blind's attacking!" I can hear doors slamming all over the place and the pounding of feet. I can hear the muffled sound of screams and battle cries from outside the walls. I can smell fear and panic everywhere. Suddenly Duthie and I are no longer anyone's priority and that suits me just fine.

If he weren't such a slimy bastard, I could kiss Blind for giving us this opportunity.

"It's like this raid was tailor made—"

"Link! Link, you passed it!" Duthie interrupts me sharply. I skid to a stop and whirl around, blinking in surprise. Duthie's already started up a spiral staircase set in against the wall.

"But that wasn't…" I frown, but shake my head and start up the stairs after Duthie, taking the steps two at a time. Don't have time to wonder.

The stairs seem to go on forever – for a lot more than two floors, at any rate – and by the time we're approaching the top I've become aware of two things. One, the sound of the struggles below have disappeared entirely. We're definitely more than two stories up. I would be impressed to find we were even in the same building. And two, there's a sharp, tangy scent on the air that can really only be one thing.

"Blood," I whisper. Somewhere in the back of my mind, still entirely too close for comfort, the Beast starts to laugh. Duthie hits the top of the staircase and gives a terrified cry.

"Kilgan! No!"

"Duthie, wait!" I cry, lunging up the last two steps and trying to grab the back of his cloak. My fingers scrap the fabric, but fear and adrenaline have given him wings on his heels and he's out of my reach before I can stop him.

He bolts across the large, ominous room and throws himself at the heap in the centre of it, lying in a pool of red. I don't have to look, or listen to Duthie's frantic, futile pleading to know who it is, and to know we're too late.

Dammit.

I can smell something else in here, besides Kilgan's blood. Something dark and threatening.

"Duthie," I say, clenching my sword tightly and hastily scanning the room. It's large and circular, surrounding by tall, foreboding statues. Six of them; black as coal, with large wings folded behind their backs, and taloned hands and feet. Like Anduriel, but … not. And there's an empty spot where a seventh should be, but isn't. "Duthie, we have to go."

A restless rustle behind me. I whirl around, sword raised, but there's nothing there…

…not even the staircase.

"No," Duthie whispers. "No, no, no, no, no! Kilgan! Kilgan! You're so stupid! Why didn't you listen to me! Kilgan!" I clench my teeth and turn back to look at him.

"Duthie!" I snarl. He finally looks up at me from his brother's body, his face a mask of grief. "We have to go. Now." It's not a request. I start to cross the floor to him. I'll drag him out of here by force if I have to. We can't stay here.

"No," he whispers. "We can't just _leave_ him!"

"We _have_ to," I answer. "Whatever killed him is still in here. We need to—" A heavy rumbling fills the room. I hiss and straighten, but it's just the statues – they're spinning. In fact the whole wall in spinning. Ah, I see. We're at the start of the _Quisrol_. That's why this place is familiar.

I start to turn back to Duthie, but at the last second I hear something from the left.

"No!" I shout, and dive for him, but I'm not fast enough. Something big and black streaks like lightening through the spot where Duthie used to be. I barely have time to register it before I hear Duthie cry out to my right, along the path of whatever it was. I twist around with a snarl, but freeze in shock when my brain processes what I'm seeing.

Straightening from over Duthie's limp and bleeding form is what can only be a corrupted _Makani._ I suddenly understand just how badly weakened Anduriel is. This thing is … it's power is suffocating.

Almost as tall as the statuesque representations around it, it's talons are covered in red, standing out in stark contrast against their dark hue. Huge, leather wings twist from its back and rustle restlessly. Every bit as androgynous as Anduriel is, and just as beautiful, but in a different, frightening way. And its eyes … they glow like Dark Link's used to.

Even the Beast quails for a moment under its perfectly still gaze and I can feel my own heart falter beneath a surge of fear. It narrows its eyes at me and moves, faster than I can follow, coming straight at me. I cry out and raise my hands in what I know is a useless defensive gesture, but somehow I'm saved yet again. Almost before I finish the move, a fire erupts in the back of my hand and there's a crisp, clear, shimmering noise as the room is flooded with golden light. The corrupted Sentinel gives a sharp, inhuman cry as it's thrown back and against the now still wall. Before I have time to figure out what just happened, however, someone's wrapped their fist in the back of my tunic and is pulling me roughly through the door left open by the spinning wall. Through the door I can see the Sentinel shaking its head and pushing itself to its hands and knees.

" _Mel nest ara cen Dweio Kar! Mel polach ciar dafili mas Quisros!"_

"Hunter!" I gasp as the wall starts to spin again, sliding shut between me, my rescuer and the sentinel. "Duthie—"

"Is already dead," Hunter says, shoving me roughly forward, his voice hoarse beneath his thick hood. "Run. Now!" Helpless to argue, knowing he's right, I do as he says, running hell for leather down the corridor, Hunter right on my heels.

"What the _Hell_ —"

"Less talky, more runny," Hunter snaps as we burst from the corridor into a fork in the path. "This way!" He takes the left path and I follow him as he leads me deeper and deeper through the winding corridors, choosing paths almost randomly for all I know. I can smell sharply the fact that people live here, in these stone corridors and rooms, but there's no one here right now. They've all gone to raid the town, I suppose.

"How did we get here?" I demand as we finally stop for a moment in a large, wide open room and Hunter considers the three paths out again. "I thought we were back in the town ... the Cleric's town. Why are we—" I'm cut off by a loud but muffled boom from above us. The ceiling rumbles in an ominous way and we both cast a glance up at it.

"What the Hell…"

"Explosions," Hunter says with a wince. "Blind's men like to use them."

"But wouldn't that mean—" Hunter nods.

"These caverns belong to Blind, but they run under the Cleric's town, the same way the Sheikah Caverns run underneath. The … the Sentinel has a lot of power here. He can change things. He arranged for you and Duthie to arrive in the _Quisrol_ instead of the temple." I raise an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"The Sentinel? Don't you mean _God_?" Hunter's shoulders sag almost imperceptibly beneath his robe, but I feel no pity – just a dull, burning anger. I can still smell Kilgan's blood.

"I … didn't know," he says quietly. "I guess … I was wrong after all." Another explosion rocks the roof, this time sending chunks of stone showering down into the little chamber me. Hunter casts a nervous look up at the ceiling.

"Gee," I say scathingly, "whatever gave you that impression? Maybe the huge, evil monster trying to kill us? Or was it the fact that your whole _priesthood_ consists almost entirely of Moblins? Or did you miss that somehow? How about the fact that there are two men dead back there. Is that what did it for you? Is that what it took to finally convince you? Two men had to _die_ for that?"

"Link, we don't really have time for this right now," he says, attempting to wave me off. "You can … you can say whatever you want once we're out of here, but the roof is going to come down on us soon, and the Sentinel won't be stuck in there for long and we'll have bigger issues once it gets out. Now … come on. This way." He moves towards one of the tunnels, but I grab his wrist and jerk him back, then cross my arms and refuse to budge, glaring furiously at him.

"No," I snarl, "we'll talk about it now. Do you seriously think that's good enough? 'I'm wrong, but we'll talk about it later'?" My voice is escalating in volume as I go. "Goddess _dammit_ , Hunter, there are two good men dead back there! Two good men who didn't deserve to die! And there's a small army of Moblins running around pretending they're priests, and another small army of thieves who are probably out there _as we speak_ killing more people! And all you can manage is 'I'm wrong'! This is bullshit! This whole thing is bullshit! I'm not an idiot, Hunter, and there's something else going on! You're hiding something!" He takes a step back, surprised at the sudden fury but for once I don't try to reign it back in. I'm tempting the Beast, I know I am, but I'm running out of time and I can't wait for him to get off his ass and explain himself. "Tell me what's going on."

"Link, look, I know this doesn't make any sense, but you _need_ to trust me," he pleads. Another explosion, a lot louder, and Hunter jumps forward, pushing me and himself backwards just as a large chunk of ceiling lands where I used to be. A single shaft of sunlight shines down through the hole made like nothing is wrong at all with the world. It's bright, and cheery, and offensive. "Link," Hunter says softly, " _please_. I'm sorry about Kilgan and Duthie. Believe me, I am, but I can't explain right now. I'm _begging you_ to trust me."

"I want to," I tell him in a voice trembling with so many barely suppressed emotions I can barely breathe. I can smell blood and sweat and fear from above us, and I can smell the barest hint of the corrupted Sentinel from down the hallway. We're running out of time, but we need to have this out. "I want to, Hunter, you have no idea how badly I want to trust you, but I just—" I cut myself off abruptly, straightening at a sudden realization.

"What is it?" Hunter asks, cocking his head to the side. "What's the matter?" Realizing how ridiculous it probably looks, but not caring, I sniff the air again. Blood … sweat … Sentinel …. I narrow my eyes at him.

"I can't smell you," I say flatly, the statement punctuated by another explosion and even more of the ceiling above falling in, widening the gap through which the sun shines. Hunter tenses and shies away from the light.

"What are you talking about?" He demands. "You're not making sense."

"I can't … I can't smell you!" I say again. "It's like you don't exist. It's like … it's like you're not really here. Like … like … you're not really … you." I narrow my eyes suddenly at him. He stares blankly back at me for a moment, then lifts a hand in a gesture as Hunterish as any to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Okay," he says almost to himself. "Okay. You've cracked. That's perfect. We're being stalked by a crazy _Makani_ and you've lost your mind. Great. _Fantastic_." I ignore him.

"I couldn't smell the Cleric, either," I say, several terrible truths settling into my brain like the tumblers in a lock clicking into place. "Like he wasn't there."

"Link, listen to yourself," Hunter says. "You're talking crazy!" But he backs up slowly as I start to advance.

"That's why Aeria wasn't happy even after I found you. She kept pointing and crying. That's why … that's why you could … why you didn't even _hesitate_ to banish her. To banish your own _mother_. Because she wasn't your mother, was she? You're not … you're not Hunter! I was right! I was _right_!"

"Link! Stop! You're not—" He's cut off as another explosion rips through the roof and extends the sunlight right across where he was backtracking. He hisses sharply and back peddles away from the light and back towards me. I pause in my advance and look up at the broken ceiling, so far above us.

"The raid," I whisper, then turn back to 'Hunter', who's all but backed into a corner. "Like it was tailor made I told Duthie." My blood starts to boil. "I actually said that. 'Like it's tailor made.' Because it is, isn't it! It _was_ tailor made!"

"Link, the Sentinel will be here, we need to—"

"How?" I demand. "How are you doing it? How are you all these people? Hunter, the Cleric, Blind too, aren't you? And that fake Kilgan. You were probably him. But you didn't do so well on that last one. Duthie knew it wasn't really Kilgan." I pause and frown. "But why? Why, with all these perfect imitations would you…" I pause and gape at him. "Because you knew!" I cry. "Because you knew Duthie was there! You knew he was with me! It was a set-up!" I clench my fists in a sudden fury. "You had no intentions of redeeming Kilgan, if you've ever redeemed anybody! You killed him, then pretended you were him because you knew Duthie would know the difference and tell me! And you knew Duthie would be there, because somehow you arranged it as Blind!" I grind my teeth until I see spots.

"Link…Link, listen to me. I'm not—"

"Who are you!" I shout at him. "Who are you! Tell me right now!"

"I'm not—" But I've had enough. I've had enough of his voice, I've had enough of his presence, I've had enough of his lies. I lunge at him, grabbing him by the front of the robes before he can react and hurl him with all my rage and hate and burning disappointment into the light shining down through the busted ceiling. His cowl is pushed off his head as he falls, and I'm more than a little startled to realize he has no face. He – _it_ – screams in pain as it tumbles into the bright sunlight, writhing on the floor. As I watch it shifts and changes, Hunter's brown robes change, going from brown, to white. His hands change colour and texture, his shoulders widen, and he's the Cleric – but the Cleric has no face either. But before I can even fully register it, he's changing again, faster almost than I can keep up. He thins down, gains height, the robes morph into a set of black leathers. Dark hair frames a featureless expanse of skin. Blind. He changes again and he's the fake Kilgan. This time he has the barest hints of facial features, but they're gone the next second as he changes again into someone I've never seen before. And again, and again, and again. He screams the whole time, unable to control his transformations, and obviously in a great deal of pain.

In the end the only thing that forces me to move into the light, to grab his smoking, shifting, worthless carcass and drag it out of there is the Beast's tangible pleasure at this display of pain. I do it to spite the Beast.

Once he's out of the light, he curls in on himself, all sign of clothes melting into his form entirely, leaving nothing but a completely unremarkable figure, wrapped in a miserable heap around itself, still without a face.

And dangling around its neck on a thick black cord is a large, white crystal.

"Ah," I say, remembering Aeria's frantic gesture. "I'm an idiot for not seeing this sooner."

"God," the thing moans from the gash that must be its mouth. "Oh God … that hurt…"

"You deserve worse," I hiss in a barely controlled voice, pulling my eyes from the crystal and glaring down at him. "You deserve so much worse. You willingly manipulated two innocent men into dying, and for what?" The thing at my feet gives a hoarse, harsh laugh.

"Innocent?" He croaks. " _Innocent_! Not here, kid. There's no such thing as innocence here. Do you know the things Kilgan did before he found the Cleric? Do you know the things Duthie's done? Innocent. Don't make me laugh."

"And that makes it all right for you to have done this? To have lied to them and manipulated them and lead them to … to _this_! And Nayru knows how many others! I should kill you. I should kill you right there and leave you to whatever carrion crawler finds you." It draws in a shuddering breath and trembles for a moment.

"Good," it coughs. "Good. Do it. Kill me."

"Who are you?" I demand, still as a statue. "Tell me who you are."

"I'm nobody kid," it says, rolling over onto its back and staring up at the roof. "I haven't been anybody in years."

"Who _were_ you?" It doesn't answer. "Answer me," I tell it. "Who were you?" It's silent for a moment, and when it finally speaks, it ignores my question entirely.

"Listen," it says. "When the _freak_ gets here … you're the only one around here who can beat him, kid. You've got the Triforce, that's what he's after. It protects you, but I don't think it will be able to do so for much longer. He's getting … he's getting more brazen. More desperate. Ganon is … Ganon is feeding him power or something."

"I can't beat that thing," I tell him. "Did you _see_ it? Did you _feel_ it? Not even the Master Sword—"

"Farore, you listen about as well as your friend thinks you do, don't you?" It snarls up at me, lifting its head to get a better view. "Forget that useless hunk of iron. The Sentinels aren't _evil_ , they're _corrupted_. And besides that, they're made of the same stuff as your sword. They're like … they're on the same _level_. You need to take it up a notch if you're going to do anything." I don't answer him for a moment.

"Who are you?" I ask again. It sighs and drops its head.

"Stubborn bastard, aren't you? My name was Dashil," he says. "But I told you, it doesn't matter."

"You were a Sheikah?"

"Yeah, we've been over that. Blind is … it was my nickname. That costume is … the closest to who I actually used to be. Before I came here and got stuck."

"Why did you come here?"

"Why else?" Dashil demands. "I wanted the Triforce. More specifically I wanted to get it before Ganondorf got it. You can see how well I succeeded at that." I lift my hand and pull off my glove. The Triforce mark on the back of my hand glitters brightly as always.

"Seems to me," I say softly, "that a lot of people have gotten into a lot of trouble over something so small." Dashil gives a sharp laugh.

"The Triforce has no actual size, kid. It's as big or as small as you want it to be. And it's as bad or as good as you want it to be. That's the problem." He shakes his head. "Picture it. A magical artefact that will grant any and all wishes you want. No limits but your imagination. No barriers between you and your fondest desires. All you have to do is _touch it_." He reaches out with his hand, as though he can see the Triforce in front of him, glistening with hope and promise. "Something like that … that kind of raw, unmitigated power … it brings out the worst in people. People get greedy. And others suffer for it. That's just the way it goes. You're a fool if you think any different." He falls silent again.

"So … what are you supposed to be, anyway?" I ask. "Shape shifter?"

"Wow, you catch on quick," he says dully. "Technical term's a Doppelganger."

"You can turn into anyone?"

"Pretty much," he says. "I lose the faces after a while, but beyond that I haven't found any limits yet." There's another pause. "The Sentinel is coming, you know."

"I know," I say. "I can hear him. He's limping. I think I hurt him."

"You should kill me and get it over with. I'm going to side with him when he gets here."

"I don't see why you would. You're obviously not fond of him."

"You know any slaves who're fond of their masters?"

"You know, it's funny, but I've decided not to kill you," I tell him. "Because I think that's what you want. You've pushed me to a point where I'd like nothing more than to do just that, but I won't. If you want to die that badly you can do it yourself. I'm not giving you an easy out after everything you've done." He looks at me for a moment, then drops his head to the side with a soft, pained noise. I frown at him but say nothing, leaning up against the wall and looking away at last. I keep one ear and my nose trained on the Sentinel's approach.

"You should run," Dashil says quietly.

"I've never been very good at that," I answer him simply. "If I'm going to die I'm at least going to meet it head on. Besides … I don't have much time left before I become the Beast anyway. I wouldn't make it far, and at least down here … with your people busy raiding the town, the carnage might be kept to a minimum. Unlike you, I can't stand the thought of having innocent blood on my hands."

"In my defence," says Dashil, "there's no such thing as innocent blood."

"No," I say softly. "I suppose for someone like you there wouldn't be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demands.

"The way I figure it," I say, "other people are only as innocent as you are. You know what you've done. You know your own sins. You know the darkness of your own soul better than anyone else can, even if you're not aware of it. That's what you see reflected in other people. It's not them you're see, Dashil, it's yourself. It's not their innocence that's up for debate. You don't consider yourself innocent, and that sets the terms of reference for the way you look at everyone else. The man in that crystal around your neck … I suppose he's not innocent either?"

"I haven't delved that far into his memories," Dashil answers. "But I bet you any money if I did I'd find something."

"I'm sure you would," I say, "and that's the point. You might find that for a time, he was driven by a need for vengeance and was willing to sacrifice a helpless bystander in that quest. You might find that he's lied and cheated and manipulated people in order to further his own ends and the ends of those he supports. You might find that he's killed, like so many others have, and I'm not talking just Moblins. I know for a fact he helped me murder a Sheikah, right in the _Quisrol_ actually. You might find all of that if you delved deep enough."

"So what's your point, kid?" Dashil demands. "You've pretty much just confirmed—"

"No," I interrupt him. "I haven't. That's what _you_ might find. And you'd find it because the only thing we have to compare other people to is ourselves. You've done all those things and more, no doubt. You've done things just as bad and worse, and probably for less reason. You think you're dark and corrupt and you lost your innocence a long time ago, and so when you look at Hunter, that's what you see. But that's because you're a jaded, cynical idiot who's so absorbed in your own pain and torment you can't see anyone else's."

"I'm not here for you to lecture, kid," Dashil says.

"Well too bad," I snap. "I'm probably going to die in a few minutes, and I'll lecture you all I goddess damned well please because _someone_ has to. Let me point out the things you wouldn't see if you delved into Hunter's memories. That quest for vengeance? It was fuelled by a feeling of responsibility for the deaths of two friends at the hands of a monster, and the serious, permanent crippling of a third. The quest was against said monster, a shade, for the record, straight from the Dark World, who had and would continue to kill indiscriminately. And it was at least partially motivated out of fear for me, because I was determined to save the man trapped inside the shade. He considered me stupid enough to get myself killed over it, and, to be fair, I was. He's a Sheikah after all, and the life of one innocent bystander is not worth the lives of several. As for the lying and cheating and manipulating, we are, for better or worse, helplessly embroiled on a regular basis in Hylian politics. The lying, cheating and manipulating are done for the purposes of keeping the power where it rightfully goes and keeping usurpers, thieves, and other assorted politicians from getting their grubby mitts on enough of it to do something everyone will regret. And the Sheikah we murdered, was a murderer. He killed my mother, handed my father over to Ganon, who subsequently turned him into the aforementioned shade, and handed two of the Sages – Impa," he twitches involuntarily at the name, "and Nabooru – over to Ganon's forces, not to mention nearly killed a personal friend of ours just prior to his own death. Oh, and he was trying to kill us. It was about his third attempt on me, if you count the time when I was three."

"Well if the ends justify the means, then most of what I've done—"

"I'm not saying the ends justify the means," I say, cutting him off. "Don't change the subject. I'm proving my point. People are only as innocent as you are, because you can't see anything in them you don't see in yourself."

"What are you trying to accomplish, kid? Are you trying to convert me or something?"

"I don't know," I say unhappily. "I just can't … people like you drive me crazy. I'm so sick of people justifying their own petty cruelties and crimes on the basis that people are no damn good anyway, so on some level they probably deserve it. It's bullshit, that's all. And it makes this place seem so much more hopeless." He doesn't reply. "You know Impa don't you?" I ask abruptly. He stiffens at her name.

"What if I do?" He demands.

"She's important to you somehow," I say. "That's why you were shocked when I mentioned that Hunter is her nephew … or whatever it is he is. And why you react every time I say her name." He doesn't say anything. "Go ahead," I say. "Ask me about her. I know you want to." Another long silence, then, hesitantly:

"Does she … does she ever talk about me?"

"Not to me," I answer him, "but she wouldn't. She never talks about things that are important to her, so I wouldn't know."

"She's the Sage of Shadow, right?"

"Yep," I say. "Gets her some nifty powers, too." He looks both pained and inexplicably happy.

"She'd make a good Sage."

"She does." There's another silence.

"What are you going to tell her about me?" He asks in a voice so quiet I almost don't hear it. I look down at him for a moment, trying to gauge his thoughts from his featureless face.

"I'm going to tell her," I say quietly, "the truth."

"I suppose," he says, dropping his head to the side again, "I don't deserve any better."

"No," I agree, turning away from him as I catch the rustle of leather behind me, "you don't." I reach into my pouch and pull out the magic mirror as a baleful set of glowing red eyes appear in the dark of the path we came down. I hold the mirror out to Dashil without looking at him.

"Kid, you need to work on your priorities. What are you—"

"Just take it," I say. "Maybe, since you're stuck in your Dark World form all the time, it'll remind you of just what you've betrayed. Or maybe it'll show you what you've become. I don't know. Either way, I'll be back for that crystal." He reaches out and takes the mirror.

"Surrender the Triforce of Courage, vessel, or be destroyed," says the corrupted Sentinel, coming to a stop just inside the doorway to glare at me. He's definitely favouring his left side. The Triforce nailed him but good. I shift my stance to a defensive one and raise my sword and shield.

I need to kick it up a notch, Dashil says.

But how?

_If you were planning on interfering again_ , I tell the Triforce mark on my hand, _there's never been a better time…_

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

_There is something seriously wrong with that boy_ , the Doppelganger thought to himself, as he took the mirror from the Hero's hand. _Idealistic fool. Does he seriously think I'm going to be impressed by a cliché meta—_ he lifted the mirror and peered into its glass, and was suddenly unaware of anything else— _phor…_ His brain trailed off, unable to comprehend anything more than the reflection that stared back out at him.

It was a face he hadn't seen in a long time. Bright grey eyes, thin pink lips, a pronounced, but handsome nose … a scar on his cheek from his first mission, another just above his eye from a Moblin spear, just barely dodged …

He raised a trembling hand to his face, and the figure in the mirror did the same, only it wasn't a pale, almost grey hand that came up. It was pale, but most certainly flesh coloured, filled with familiar lines and marks and miniscule scars. But … there was nothing on his face. He couldn't feel what he saw in the mirror, and holding out his hand, he didn't see what he saw in the mirror. But he knew – he _knew_ – what he saw in the mirror.

_That's … it's me!_ The thought, the rush of identity overwhelmed him for a moment, bringing with it a deluge of half forgotten memories and thoughts. _His_ memories and thoughts. Not memories stolen from the boy in the crystal. He pushed himself off the ground, into a seated position, never taking his eyes off the stunned face in the mirror.

It was him. It was really him… a tired, haggard, older looking him, but him all the same.

"How—" he said, looking up, determined to ask the kid what the Hell kind of mirror this was exactly, but was suddenly reminded of just where he was, and that the kid was kind of busy.

In fact, the kid was flying through the air to slam into the wall behind him.

"Ow," he said in a tight, pained voice. "Holy … mother of … ow…" He pushed himself to his hands and knees, spit blood out of his mouth, and started up to his feet. He braced himself with a hand on the wall. "Just when I need the Beast," he muttered to himself. "It's got it's damn tail tucked between its damn—agh!" The Sentinel had moved with it's usual, frightening speed and now had the kid by the throat.

_Dammit!_ Dashil thought. _Why isn't he using the—_

But the next instant a bright, golden light exploded from the kid's hand, throwing both the Sentinel and Dashil backwards from the force of it. The kid hit the ground on his feet, and stayed there, head bowed, fists clenched, and trembling with something Dashil couldn't identify. That is, until the Hero of Time looked up.

And it became painfully clear to everyone in the room that Hero of Time wasn't the one staring out of those eyes.

***

_Work, damn you! Interfere, do something!_ The Hero snarled wordlessly at the Triforce. _Do something!_ Do something _! Farore, Nayru and Din!_ He was losing his grip on consciousness, his access to oxygen cut off by the iron grip on his throat. The Beast snarled from the back of his mind. This was its chance.

_Useless hunk of pyrite …_

It could take the Hero now, it was strong, he was weakening, and the moon was almost up … but it didn't.

_Do something…!_

The Beast, after all, was a manifestation of the Dark World, and the _makani_ was a Prince of the Dark World. He was bound to it. He was controlled by it. He was—

_Anything…!_

And abruptly, it did.

The chains binding the Beast to the _makani_ were shattered. It's faltering courage was bolstered. In a rush of Golden power, it took control of the Hero, forced his desperate mind to the back, and let its strength flow into his all too mortal limbs.

The golden light faded, the enemy was already getting to its feet, and the Master Sword's fire went out.

The Beast looked up, met the glowing red pinpricks with burning blue hate, and wasted no time in going for its throat.

***

Dashil scrambled hastily away from the snarling, ripping fight in the corner of the wide room, clinging to the mirror and the crystal around his neck.

_What am I doing?_ He thought frantically. _What do I do? Whose side am I on?_ He ducked behind a larger chunk of rubble and lifted the mirror again. His face – his _real_ face stared back at him.

He got to his feet and turned back to the fight. A wounded immortal is an immortal still, but somehow, someway, the kid was holding his own, though Dashil had to admit this wasn't what he'd meant by 'kick it up a notch.' The Hero's face was twisted into a furious mockery of his normal face, teeth bared, eyes narrowed into slits, he'd dropped his shield entirely and was viciously slashing two-handed with his sword with more ferocity than Dashil would have thought him capable of.

_On the one hand_ , he thought to himself, weighing the situation which had long ago spun out of his control, _I hate the freak. I would like nothing better than to watch the kid kill it. I could die satisfied if nothing else if I could watch that._

_On the other hand, the kid hates me, and doesn't exactly look amicable to any kind of help at this point. He's just as likely to turn on me. Not that I would mind thwarting his high and mighty "I won't kill you because I think that's what you want" attitude._

_So what does that leave me?_ He narrowed his eyes. _What it always leaves me. The only side that matters. My own._

_And I'm dead no matter how you slice it. If the kid doesn't kill me in a berserker rage, the freak will, and I can't run fast enough to escape either one of them._

_But so what? That's what I wanted, isn't it? An end to this. One way or another._

But that wasn't quite right. He hadn't gone to all that effort to arrange this for the sole purpose of dying. Maybe he wasn't brave enough to end his own life, but he could have taunted the freak into ending it for him forever ago if that was all he wanted.

No, he wanted the freak to pay.

He wanted it to pay for all the years of slavery and embarrassment and damaged pride.

He wanted it to pay for turning him into the monster he'd always flirted with before the Dark World, but never actually fallen into.

He wanted it to pay for it's own crimes, and for his as well, because idealistic though he was, the kid was right about one thing: people – and freaks – were only as innocent as you were. And he and the freak had done more that was deserving of death than anyone else Dashil knew.

And besides, it wasn't too late to change the truth, was it?

_I won't have her remember me like this,_ he thought to himself, hand coming up to feel the lack of features on his face. _I know what I want her to remember._ He set the mirror down on the ground and reached around his neck, pulling off the thick cord and lifting the crystal in front of his face.

_For you, Impa. For being the only one who ever cared, and the only one who ever will._

***

The _makani_ fought fiercely against the carrier of the Triforce of Courage. It had its orders. It had its irrevocable, undeniable command. The Master needed the Triforce of Courage. The Master needed it, the Master wanted it, and the Master would have it.

But the strain of dealing harm to the Carrier of a Triforce piece was tearing it apart from the inside. With the Master's will behind it, it could break the barrier preventing it from harming the carrier – that was what had taken it so long to travel from the _Quisrol_ to here, after all. The act of breaking the chains that bound it to the Triforce of Courage. But the Triforce of Courage was still actively working against it. Protecting its bearer. If it were any more than a shard it could have ripped the _makani_ apart.

But it wasn't. And the Triforce carrier hadn't know how to use it. How to command it, as the Master commanded his.

But that had changed… the carrier's darker nature had taken over and it understood command. It understood how to demand things of the Triforce and make it obey. Every slash of its sword left the air tinged with gold, and sliced through the _makani_ with more ease than anything should have ever been able to.

One thing had become painfully clear to it. It was in trouble. The will of the Master might not be enough. Not from such a great distance. Not behind the seals.

It felt a sudden stab of an unfamiliar emotion that it had only sensed before in the people it had killed in the name of the Master, and it brought with it a startling epiphany.

The only thing an immortal is afraid of, is mortality.

***

The Beast pressed forward, uncaring of the wounds inflicted on the Hero's body. A gash in the side, and arm that would be almost useless once the Beast withdrew its strength, three long gouges down the chest – none of it mattered. All the Beast had to do was kill the enemy before it destroyed the Hero's body. The moon would take care of everything else.

***

It was kind of like waking up from a dream, only instead of waking up to your bed and your pillows and the sound of daily life starting in the kitchen below, you wake up to a nightmare.

He'd been vaguely aware that he was no longer in the palace. Vaguely aware that he was no longer with Agahnim, though he couldn't have fathomed a guess as to where he was or who he was with. Once or twice he'd thought he'd heard someone call his name. A woman … she had sounded so familiar, and so sad. He'd wanted to comfort her somehow, but hadn't been able to wake himself up.

But that wasn't the case now. He was awake.

Well, he was pretty sure he was awake. He could feel the rocks under his feet, he could sneeze from the dust in the air, and – he checked just to be sure – it hurt when he pinched himself. And yet nothing made sense.

He didn't know where he was – some kind of cavern that may or may not have been the Sheikah Caverns, but he didn't think so. Little things were different. There was a … a _thing_ watching him expectantly, though how he knew it was watching him given it had no eyes he wasn't sure. Also the sounds of a fight from behind the thing somewhere.

"Um," he said. "What—"

"We haven't much time," said the thing, and it stepped aside, revealing the rest of the nightmare behind it.

"Farore!" Hunter gasped. "Link!" He moved immediately for his sword, but the thing caught his arm.

"Oh no you don't," it said. "I didn't just release you from that spell so you can rush in there and get yourself killed. Your friend will be fine—"

"He's covered in blood!"

"Trust me. That's the least of his worries right now, and I only have a few seconds left to get what I need from you. Call it payment for freeing you when I could have left you where you were."

"What are you—"

"Promise me, kid, you'll explain to him everything that happens from this point on. He's not going to be capable of understanding it until the morning. And you make sure he tells it to Impa that way, you got me?"

"Impa! What does she have to do with—"

"If you survive tonight," the thing answered, "I'm sure he'll—" He was cut off by an inhuman scream from behind them. They turned as one to stare at the scene playing out amidst the rubble from the ruined ceiling. Link – _Oh my Goddess, what's wrong with him!_ Hunter thought to himself frantically, finally getting a good look at the look on his face – had lunged at the winged thing sword-first and had impaled it, even as it sank its claws into both of his shoulders and tore them out again. It was the winged thing that had screamed, and it continued to do so as Link ripped his sword out with more viciousness than was necessary and raised it again, aiming higher this time.

The thing continued to claw at him, lunging down with its sharp teeth in a last, desperate bid for victory, but Link was faster. The Master sword slashed through the air, leaving a golden light burning in the air behind it as it went, and cleaved through the thing's neck, severing its head from its body. It's back arched and somehow, it screamed again, forcing Hunter and the thing beside him to gasp in pain and cover their ears. Before its head had hit the ground, it disappeared in a flash of green light, leaving nothing behind but a pile of ashes.

"Link!" Hunter cried, shaking free of the thing at last and starting forward. "Oh my Goddess, Link! What the _Hell_ —" But he stopped short when Link finally looked up at him.

The expression on his face hadn't changed. He looked … manic.

"Link?" He asked, nervous suddenly. "Link? Are you all right?"

"Too late, kid," said the faceless thing behind him. "Moon's risen." And before Hunter could say anything else, Link arched his back and screamed as well. As Hunter watched, helpless and horrified and confused beyond anything he'd ever been before, Link's form shifted in a fashion that looked particularly painful. He twisted and writhed and tore at the ground with hands that became claws, and a body that no longer looked even remotely like the twenty-one year old half-Sheikah-half-Gerudo it had been a scant few seconds ago. The trademark green tunic and hat had been replaced by a thick coat of fur, the fine-featured face had elongated and grown teeth, the pointed ears were now shorter, and on top of his head.

"Impossible!" Hunter gasped, eyes wide with horror. "Im-Impossible!"

The sound appeared to pierce through the howling the thing-that-used-to-be-Link was doing, and it straightened abruptly, turning a furious, burning stare on Hunter with eyes that were too blue to not be Link's.

"L-Link?" He managed.

"If you live, make sure you tell him," said the faceless-thing.

"Tell him wh—" But the next second the beast in front of him moved, scrambling its way up onto its paws and lunging for Hunter, gaping maw wide. He cried out in shock and stumbled back, but he was too slow. He wasn't going to be able to dodge…

The faceless thing had acted the instant the beast had moved, however. He leapt forward and grabbed the back of Hunter's Sheikah uniform, wrenching him back with all his strength and sending him tumbling to the ground behind him, just as the beast leapt.

It slammed into the faceless thing and the two went tumbling over and behind Hunter who scrambled to twist around to look, and abruptly wished he hadn't. The beats tore mercilessly into the faceless thing, teeth and claws flying, not stopping until what was left of it had gone absolutely still. Then it turned and levelled its malevolent glare on Hunter again.

"Damn!" He hissed, scrambling backwards, but knowing he wouldn't be nearly fast enough. The beast lunged for him, just as his hand found something hard and cool and cylindrical.

_A weapon_ , he thought desperately. _Please let it be a weapon!_ He wrapped his hand around it and lifted it as fast as he could, closing his eyes tightly.

_A mirror_ , he thought, catching a glimpse of it. _A goddess damned mirror. I'm dead…_

But he heard a sudden, frantic snarl and he risked opening his eyes. The beast had stopped dead in its tracks and was staring at something in the mirror's reflection. It shook its head furiously, but seemed unable to take its eyes off the mirror. Its face twisted as it struggled with something, but slowly fear began to crack through the mask of rage on the canine face.

Hunter realized with a start that it was changing again. It shook and trembled and whined as its began to twist and shrink. It's colouring changed, the fur grew shorter, the ears grew longer, the teeth lost their edge and the claws disappeared almost entirely, until finally, what was left where the huge monster-that-used-to-be-Link had been, was a very not-huge, very pink rabbit, trembling violently, nose twitching frantically. Hunter felt for it. He suspected he was shaking just as bad.

"L…Link?" He ventured. He'd barely finished the one syllable when the rabbit gave a tiny shriek of fright and bolted, running as fast as it's little rabbit legs would carry it down one of the hallways, vanishing into the dark. Hunter blinked and lifted the mirror, peering into its surface. His own reflection stared back at him, looking about as lost and confused as he felt.

He gave up. He let himself fall back onto the ground shaking his head helplessly and wishing he'd never woke up.

"Why?" He whimpered softly to himself. "Why can't it ever make sense?"


	19. The New Beast

#  **A Brief Chapter 19 and an Interlude**

_Somehow our devils are never quite what we expect when we meet them face to face.  
_ -Nelson DeMille

_Pink: it's my new obsession,  
Pink: it's not even a question,  
Pink on the lips of your lover,  
_' _Cause Pink is the love you discover._

_Pink it was love at first sight,  
Yeah, Pink when I turn out the light,  
And Pink gets me high as a kite,  
And I think everything is going to be all right  
No matter what we do tonight.  
_-"Pink," Aerosmith

##  **Chapter 19**

There's a mirror.

The image of it pierces my consciousness, demanding my attention, requiring my focus. But I'm lost. Lost in a sea of rage, never to be recovered. What do I care for mirrors?

And yet I can't seem to escape it…

There's a face in the mirror.

Who is it? I feel like I should know, but the features are so twisted … an expression of vicious intent contorts the mouth and nose. The eyes – green like poison; green like death; green like … like oxidized gold (what _is_ it with this place and that shade of green?) – are narrowed and wild with fury and murder. It's barely sentient, this face – barely human.

I should know it. There's something about it…

It's just a face. A familiar one, I guess. In the physical sense at least – in the physical sense only: blonde hair, just a little too long everywhere, tied back under a long green hat, bangs left to get in the way of everything; long ears; skin just starting to lose a light tan; and eyes of a shape I know I've looked at before.

It's funny that I can't recognize the eyes… I always recognize people by their eyes…. But that's where it ends. That's where the familiarity stops dead. With the eyes.

And when the truth hits me, it does so with force enough to freeze over the sea of rage and turn the world brittle and cracking.

That's me.

The murderer in the mirror is me.

The monster that is at once me and at the same time not me skids to a stop and snarls it's rage. I'm in its way. I'm between it and its kill. But I can't take my eyes off the face in the mirror.

Why are my eyes like that?

Why is my face like that?

What have I done?

I can smell blood. I can … I can _taste_ blood …

What have I done!

This isn't happening…

This can't be happening…

The monster that is and isn't me rears up, liquid rage and murderous hunger in the form of a beast, meaning to take me again, but a beast of a different nature has me now. It takes me a moment to recognize this new monster for what it is: fear.

I'm afraid like I've never been afraid in my entire life.

The monster that is and isn't me wants me again, and I'm more afraid of what I would be if it gets me than I am of anything else.

"No," I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from the contorted face in the mirror.

The beast lunges…

" _NO_!"

I give in to the new beast in the face of the old.

I turn myself over to its instinct.

I drown in the sea of its fear.

I flee.

*******

##  **An Interlude**

Wandi let loose an obscene cackle as she leapt off her horse and slammed into the nearest of the Children of the Cleric. She was bored with fighting on horseback – even if it was some kind of freak horse. She wanted to sink her teeth into the fight, and the only way to do that…

She and her soon-to-be victim tumbled to the ground, Wandi, as always, on top. She reached to her boot and pulled a jagged knife free, raising it into the air as she straddled the Child and grabbed its throat with her other hand.

"Where's your God now!" She crowed exultantly, driving the knife down towards whatever might be under the shadows of its cowl. Before it reached its intended target, however, something grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her forcibly off her prone enemy. She snarled as she was ripped away, tightening her grip as she went and taking the Child's cloak with her. She only got the briefest of looks at the form under the heavy cowl as she was thrown backwards, but it was enough to cut off her laughter and make her eyes widen.

"Moblin!" She gasped. "He's a Moblin! Din's blood!"

Before she could even fully process the information, however, she was abruptly forced to revert her attention back to her current attacker. It was another Child, wicked looking blade in its hands.

_Moblin blade…_ She realized. _How didn' I see it before!_

She deftly dodged the Moblin's thrust and responded by moving in close, knife slashing and flashing as viciously as ever. She felt it sink in more than once with a large measure of satisfaction.

"Not so tough when yer not walkin' 'round dressed in a freakin' _can_ are ya!" She snarled, twisting around it and slashing at its back as it tried to slash at her again. Though she'd never admit it, even to herself, she was secretly glad they were the smaller breed of Moblins. The big ones would have been trouble…

She slammed her foot into the back of its knee and it buckled, stumbling forward, but managing to keep its balance. She spared a quick glance for what was happening with the rest of the battle.

Several other people had apparently made the same discovery that she had. The shouts of: "Moblins! They're Moblins!" was ringing all over the battlefield. Blind's men abruptly redoubled their efforts, refocusing their attacks from the Cleric's worshippers, to the Cleric's children. The worshippers, on the other hand, were not nearly so organized. Some of them joined the fray, abandoning the fight against Blind's men to join the fight against the Moblins. Some of them continued to flee as fast as they could go. Some of them continued to fight Blind's men. And some of them just stood where they were, the truth about the priesthood they'd revered sinking slowly into their brains. If they were lucky, they were ignored. If they weren't, they were cut down for being between someone and their prey. Even the Moblins were no longer focused exclusively on Blind's men. They were quickly realizing the jig was up, though judging by their relative disorganization they couldn't figure out why anymore than Wandi could.

She turned back to her foe as he finally righted himself and came after her again. She pulled a loose sword off the ground and raised it with a feral grin at the Moblin.

_What the Hell is goin' on!_

*******

"Nice bunny," Hunter said as soothingly as he could manage given the circumstances. The little pink rabbit trembled back at him from the corner, eyes darting back and forth as it searched for an escape. "Good bunny. Calm bunny. No more running, K? Just … just stay right there…" He risked a slow, easy step forward, slipping out of his coat as he did so. "Good bunny. Good. Just…" he took another step forward, readying the coat, "…don't…," another step forward; the rabbit twitched convulsively and hopped uneasily further back into the corner, "move!" He lunged the last couple of feet between he and it. It gave a tiny, rabbit-y shriek (that Hunter was getting tired of hearing), and attempted to lunge past him.

Hunter swore violently and managed to alter his trajectory at the last minute, catching half of the rabbit under his coat. He scrambled forward to grab the other half of it as it scrambled frantically to get away.

"You're dead if I ever get you to turn back into Link," he told it in as pleasant and calming a voice as he could manage. "You hear me? Dead." The rabbit apparently heard him just fine, because it twisted in his grip and managed to sink its teeth into his finger. Hunter snarled an oath but tightened his grip, causing the rabbit to shriek and struggle more.

"Oh yeah," he said from between his teeth. "That tears it. You're more than dead. You're _beyond_ dead." He shoved the struggling creature into one of the sleeves of his coat, then promptly wrapped the rest of the coat around it to keep it from getting out. He picked up the trembling, struggling, shrieking bundle and put it in his lap, then leaned wearily up against the wall. "You know how beyond dead you are? You're non-existent." He stuck his bleeding finger his mouth and glared down at the bundle. "I'm going to steal your sword and go back in time and make sure your mother kills your father like a good little Gerudo before the tragedy that is you is brought into being." The rabbit gave up its struggles and settled for shaking pathetically and silently in the confines of the coat.

"So what now?" Hunter demanded of no one in particular. "I've achieved step one. The rabbit-that-used-to-be-Link is all wrapped up in a neat little package. It only took an hour of chasing him around these tunnels that look like the Sheikah Caverns but obviously aren't. What's step two?" He considered it. "Turn him back so he can explain to me what the Hell's going on and why he's a rabbit in the first place. And where I am. And what the Hell's going on. That's step two. Well, that's not complicated at all, is it?" The rabbit squeaked pitifully. "No, I didn't think so either." Hunter responded, wishing the sarcastic exchange, even if was between himself and a _rabbit_ , had made him feel better. But the wish was as futile as it was desperate, and he knew that.

"All right," he said after a moment of feeling as dejected as the rabbit in his coat. "Well, I'm not solving anything by sitting here not solving anything. I may as well …," he heaved a frustrated sigh, "…may as well wander aimlessly and hope I find somebody who _isn't_ a rabbit to talk to. And who won't turn into a bloody wolfos. And maybe with a face. That would be nice." The rabbit squeaked and Hunter nodded.

"Right," he said. "Sounds good." He climbed back up to his feet, taking the bundle-o-rabbit with him, then looked around, trying to get his bearings. "Okay. Which way?" The tunnel he was in extended in three different directions, none of which looked particularly more friendly than any of the others. "If I was in the Sheikah Caverns," he murmured, "which evidently I am not, I would go left. So … let's go left." He screwed up what was left of what he was pretty sure was his quickly shrinking sanity and started down the left corridor, praying to whoever would listen that he was going the right way.

He stopped, however, part-way down the corridor, freezing mid-step and straining his ears.

Someone was coming.

The rabbit gave an uncertain squeak at the sudden lack of motion and Hunter squeezed his bundle tighter.

"Shut up," he hissed at it, pressing himself back into the shadows of the hallway. "Not a peep."

Whoever it was continued to approach, and as they got closer Hunter realized they were hurt. He or she or it was limping, and his breathing was wretchedly ragged, interspersed every now and then with a gasp or groan of pain.

When he rounded the corner, despite all the years of Sheikah training, Hunter gasped, immediately drawing the thing's attention to him. Even without the blood and the fact that it was all but doubled over, leaning on the wall for support, Hunter wasn't sure it had ever been a person. Its hands didn't taper off into fingers, but long, thin claws, a few of which appeared broken. Its skin – what was visible of it through the blood – had a greyish tint to it, and its mouth, wide-open and gasping, was filled with a row of jagged, pointed teeth.

It narrowed its eyes when it spotted Hunter, looking confused at first, and then positively furious.

"You," it hissed – with feeling. Hunter blinked in surprise.

"P-Pardon?" He said, shocked. "I don't think we've actually m—Farore!" He jumped back as the thing threw itself at him suddenly, blood-covered claws out. It's motion was slow and clumsy – he was wounded far too badly to be a threat – but Hunter was shocked by just how determined he seemed to be.

"What the Hell are you doing?" He gasped, clutching his whimpering bundle tighter and trying to figure out how to draw his sword and still maintain his grip on the rabbit-that-used-to-be-Link. "Who are you?"

"Like you don't know," the thing hissed, its voice hoarse and painful sounding. "You bastard. You led him to his death." He pushed himself off the wall with an obvious effort and turned around.

"Listen," said Hunter, frowning, "I don't know who you think I am, but you need to stop. You're – Din, look at you. You're bleeding to death where you're standing. And besides, I haven't led anyone to their death. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, right," scoffed the thing, acid in his tone, "you were going to _redeem_ him. You liar. You rat. You traitorous, _murdering_ , insect! _He trusted you_!" He threw himself at Hunter again and Hunter back peddled out of his reach. This time there was no wall to catch the stranger. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a sharp gasp of pain.

"Damn you," he coughed, trying futilely to get up. His arms couldn't hold him anymore. "Damn you and damn your blood-thirsty god. If I had the strength I'd send you to join him. I'd kill you like you killed Kilgan." His voice cracked and Hunter realized with some amount of surprise that he was crying.

"Listen," he said. He was unsure of the wisdom of talking to this crazed claw-thing which had just been trying to kill him, but the fact remained it was the only thing he'd seen since the original faceless person had died and Link had turned into a rabbit. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and desperate had never seemed a more accurate descriptor than now. "Listen," he repeated, dropping into a crouch out of reach of the thing's claws and still clutching at his once-again struggling bundle, "I'm not … I don't know who Kilgan is."

" _Lies_!" Snapped the strange man.

"Also," Hunter added, "I don't … I've never even heard of anyone who worships a God. I mean … deities – at least _my_ deities – are feminine. Perhaps you heard me swearing by one of them when you came at me. Her name is Farore. There's also Nayru and Din." This appeared to confuse the man. Hunter decided to take a different tack. "I … where am I?" He asked. "Where is this? It looks like the Sheikah Caverns but none of the paths go where they should."

"Is this…is this some kind of trick?" He asked, narrowing his eyes further. "Is this some … kind of attempt to … to _mock me_?" Hunter gave him a desperate look, struggling to understand.

"Why would I mock you?" He demanded. "I don't even know you." The strange man closed his eyes and raised his hand to his face.

"Just … leave me," he said. "I was a fool to come back down here in the first place. I can't even kill you, I don't know how I was expecting to … to help…" Hunter wasn't entirely sure who the stranger was talking to anymore. He threw a nervous glance around the empty corridor.

"To help who? There's no one down here," he said. "Who did you want to help? Maybe … maybe I can—"

"You've done enough!" The man snarled. "It's your fault he's down here anyway! Yours and mine! I never should have asked him for help."

"Who?"

"I used to pray," the man murmured, completely oblivious to Hunter's presence all of a sudden. He was slipping into unconsciousness, Hunter could _feel_ it. "I used to pray he'd come. Send us the Hero, I said. Send us the Hero." Hunter stiffened.

"What hero?" He asked, unconsciously clutching his bundle tighter. "The Hero of Time?"

"And then he came, finally, but not for us. And not of his own volition."

" _Who_ came?" Hunter demanded, desperate all of a sudden. "Was it Link? Are you talking about Link? Do you know him?"

"And now I've … I've gotten him killed…him and Kilgan both…"

"For Nayru's sake," Hunter hissed. "Of all the times to go delirious." He dropped to his knees and carefully set his bundled up cloak on the ground. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered, carefully pulling at his coat, doing his best not to open up a space for the rabbit to get out again. The strange man stared up the sleeve of the coat with a confused expression on his face.

"So … blue…," he murmured.

"Dammit," Hunter hissed, finding the first pocket empty. "Please tell me he didn't take them. He left my sword. Why would he take the potions but not—ha!" He pulled a small, carefully wrapped bottle out of his coat pocket, then hastily twisted the garment tightly around the rabbit again.

"…rabbit…," Duthie murmured thickly as Hunter pulled the sleeve away from him.

"I don't want to talk about it," Hunter responded darkly. "I'm still half-convinced I'm crazy." He quickly unwrapped the tiny bottle and pulled out the cork, then frowned uncertainly at the stranger. "Don't… I'm going to give you a potion. I am doing this because I'm desperate and I think you might know Link. If you attack me again, I _will_ draw my sword, and potion or not you're not going to be in any shape to stop me, understand?"

"…Kilgan…" moaned the strange man. Hunter sighed.

"Farore, this is the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life." He crawled forward and tipped the strange man's head back, readying the bottle to pour it down his throat.

"Here goes everything…"

*******

"Who are you for!" Demanded the ringleader belligerently, giving him an insolent once-over.

"I don't think it matters," Brayden answered calmly and quietly, adrenaline thumping so loud in his ears he was surprised he hadn't gone deaf yet. Three times – _three times_ – he'd been ambushed, attacked, or otherwise waylaid between the Archery Shop and Eldrick's house. He was seriously starting to get sick of it and was rapidly losing his patience. "You're planning on trying to beat the Hell out of me regardless – I would appreciate it if you would note my use of the word 'try' – so I don't think it really matters what I say at this point."

"I don't think I like your tone," the brute said quaintly. "Me and the guys here, we're just trying to do our patriotic duty—"

"You're a thug," Brayden interrupted dismissively. "You and your 'guys' have been roaming this part of town, beating the crap out of anyone and everyone who has the unfortunate luck to meet you, regardless of 'who they're for.' You're taking advantage of a bad situation and making it worse, and all to make a quick buck amidst the chaos, when the city guard's too busy trying to keep the palace from being placed under siege to deal with arrogant asses like yourself. If you're going to attempt to rob me, please just get to the point so I can get on with my night. I haven't the time to waste on you."

_You,_ said a voice that had Bruiser's vague, disapproving tone, _are_ trying _to pick a fight._

"Hey, whatever you say, Pops."

_Correction,_ he told it, as the ringleader took him up on his challenge and lunged at him, _I_ have _picked a fight_. He waited until the last possible second, then slid slightly to the side and raised his knee, ramming it into the thug's stomach. He followed up with a sharp elbow strike to the back, and ended by placing his boot on the big guy's neck. _If you could even call it a fight…_

"You know," he said, perhaps putting a bit more pressure on the guy's neck than was precisely required, "I'll give you the benefit of a doubt, because I'm bundled up, and it's dark out, and you're quite obviously an idiot. But, in case you didn't notice, I'm a Sheikah." He looked up at the uncertain group of thugs who were staring in consternation at their leader. "Now, if you're all smart, you'll all listen to the curfew the guards have imposed and go home and lock your doors and quit robbing people." He pulled his foot off the thug's neck and turned his back on him. "Because when I'm done with my official Sheikah business, I'm going to come back out here, and I'm going to engage in some _unofficial_ Sheikah business, starting with you." He didn't look back to see if they listened. They didn't get in his way again, and at the moment, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

He continued through the snowy night, keeping to the shadows for the most part – largely to avoid the armed patrols that still wandered the streets here and there (of peasants, of guards, of thugs…there were all kinds), and partly to assuage the sting of having been called 'pops' (which was something he'd always called his dad, and certainly not something he'd ever associated with himself, and besides if he was _that_ old would he be able to do _this?_ ) – until eventually, he found himself at his destination: the House of Eldrick.

The house was as ostentatious and gratuitous as its owners. Even the gates were opulent – wrought, as they were, of something resembling gold in intricate, geometrical patterns. The path leading up to the house was long and winding, making sure anybody traversing it got a good look at what were lush gardens in the spring and summer, and a pristine field of snow in the winter, dotted here and there by carefully pruned trees – attractive, even in the nakedness of the season. The house was, naturally, expertly crafted and kept. It was large and sprawling, even by Hylian standards, with multiple wings, and verandas, all artfully arranged to keep it aesthetically pleasing. The inside, Brayden knew, was nothing short of lavish – nothing but the best and most expensive for the Eldricks: richly furnished; not an inch of wall left without something expensive hanging on it, or over it and in front of it; not a stretch of floor not covered by thick carpets, or elaborate stone mosaics, or lined with ornate suits of armour. The whole thing smacked of the typical, Hylian indulgence that more often than not kept the race – with a few, shining, obvious exceptions – soft and vulnerable.

But it would be a mistake to assume that the Eldricks were soft and vulnerable. They had certainly fallen into luxury's lap and decided they liked it there, there was no doubt about that. They enjoyed the opulence afforded by their station, and were loathe to give it up. But the Eldricks, contrary to popular belief, were more complex than that.

The luxury, the opulence, the decadence was real, but it was not all. The gates, for example: gold-plated, perhaps, but steel underneath – a little known fact. The ornate suits of armour not just for display: all fully functional, well kept, and battle ready. The paintings and murals and tapestries concealed the telltale seams of hidden compartments, passages, and a weapons cache or two. The rich furniture and general expense of your surroundings when you were in the House of Eldrick were placed, not only to please the expensive tastes of its owners, but to distract you from their ambitions, machinations, and capabilities.

The Eldricks, like their expensive gate, were plated with gold, but steel underneath.

And Brayden – dropping himself over the fence and landing deftly and silently behind the gate – wasn't sure if he was dreading that, or counting on it.

*******

"My name is Hunter, son of Bruiser and Aeria of the Sheikah, cousin of Link, Hero of Time. Also one of his best friends, _and_ his pseudo-political advisor. My girlfriend's name is Malon. She's currently captured by an evil wizard and imprisoned somewhere. Maybe here, I don't know."

_Why aren't I dead…?_

"I was captured too. Then I suddenly wasn't captured – don't ask me how, I don't know – and I was in a room that looked like the Sheikah Caverns but wasn't. And Link was fighting a thing with bat wings. Then a guy with no face said a bunch of stuff that made no sense, then Link turned into a wolfos and killed the thing with no face, and then tried to kill me – I think – and I picked up a mirror and he turned into a pink rabbit."

_Why is he still talking to me? Why won't he just finish me off?_

"I have spent the last few hours running around these caves, chasing my friend-who-is-now-a-rabbit. I caught him, and now I've tied him up in my coat to keep him from running away again. I don't know where I am, or how I got here. I don't know who you are, or who your brother is, but I know I didn't kill him, or arrange for his death, or have anything to do with his death, unless your brother doesn't have a face, in which case I was there, but my involvement ends at that."

"Kilgan has a face," Duthie snapped. "And if this is some sick attempt at mocking me before you kill me, I don't care. I don't care about anything you have to say."

"For the last time, I'm not going to kill you! I _told_ you! I have no intentions of hurting you! If I did, why would I have given you that potion?" Duthie remained silent. He'd been wondering that himself. "Oh my Goddess," the boy all but snarled. "What is _wrong_ with you!"

"Goddess?" Duthie demanded, stiffening suddenly. "You hypocrite! How dare you swear by—"

"Look," the boy interrupted wearily. "We went over this back when you were bleeding to death. I worship the three Goddesses – Nayru, Farore and Din. I've never heard of this _God_ , nor have I ever heard of a male deity. The concept is as foreign to me as…as…well, I can't think of a suitable example since in the last three hours I've been subjected to so much that could be considered foreign I'm not entirely sure I understand the word anymore." He heaved a frustrated sigh and let his head drop back to rest against the wall. He looked so dejected and lost for a moment that Duthie almost felt bad for him.

"This doesn't make any sense," Duthie said, because it didn't. If this was a trick it was a good one. This boy looked and sounded and moved like the one who'd led Kilgan to his death – the one who Link had claimed to have once been friends with – but his display of confusion appeared genuine. If Duthie didn't know better, he'd actually believe that the kid didn't know of God, the Cleric, or Kilgan.

"Listen," Duthie said after a long moment. "Listen to me. I have been tricked, and lied to, and deceived so often and so badly since the seals first went up and I was trapped here, that I don't think I could recognize the truth anymore, if it came to me claiming the Hero of Time was a pink rabbit tied up in his coat."

"The Hero of Time _is_ a pink rabbit tied up in my coat." Duthie pushed himself into a sitting position with an audible wince. The boy tensed, but didn't move out of the way, clutching his coat tighter and narrowing his eyes suspiciously at him.

"Let me see," Duthie said. Hunter frowned.

"Why?" He demanded.

"Look," Duthie said flatly, "of the two of us, I'm the only one who hasn't betrayed Link in the last three days, okay?"

"I haven't!"

"Then let me see him," Duthie said. " _You're_ the one who's identity is in question right now. I _know_ who I am, and I know I'm as close to a friend as he _has_ here right now. Just let me see him." Hunter frowned dubiously, but turned down to his bundle and carefully pried open a hole in it big enough for the rabbit's head, but nothing else. It squeaked pathetically and trembled violently, squinting eyes too blue to be real at the sudden influx of light.

"Nayru, Farore, and Din," Duthie breathed, staring at the little pink-thing's eyes. "It _is_ him!" Hunter frowned at him.

"Why is he a rabbit?"

"I…don't know," Duthie admitted, more confused than ever. "I haven't got the faintest clue. He told me he turns into a monster at night, but…"

"He did," Hunter said flatly. "Believe me, he did. But then I showed him this mirror and he changed into a rabbit."

"What mirror?"

"I found it on the ground," Hunter said, carefully wrapping the rabbit back up. He set it down on the ground, keeping one wary eye on Duthie, and reached down to his waist, untying the mirror he'd found from his belt and raising it to peer into it again. "It's got the Sheikan symbol on it, but I don't see anything else special about it." His reflection offered him a perplexed frown. "It's just a mirror." He held it out to Duthie. Duthie hesitated for a moment, then picked the mirror up and flipped it around to look into it.

"Farore!" He gasped, eyes going wide as saucers at whatever he saw.

"What?" Hunter demanded. "What is it?"

"It's…me!" He raised a shaky hand to his face. "It's … it's me! The old me! Before I got trapped here!" Hunter frowned and reached over, plucking the mirror from Duthie's grasp and looking into it again. Still just his usual reflection. He frowned and moved over beside Duthie, forcing his distrust aside for the moment. He held the mirror up far enough to take in both of them. He blinked in surprise.

"Holy mother of Hell!" He gasped. "That's _you_!"

Beside his reflection in the mirror, looking as shocked as Hunter felt, was a face that resembled nothing of the strange creature beside him. He looked like a regular Hylian; blonde hair, finely carved, if plain, features, hair carefully parted down the middle – nothing spectacular about him. His eyes weren't an eerie shade of solid red, his hands didn't end in long claws, his mouth had regular teeth, not sharp, jagged, pointed ones.

"Well…it used to be," said Duthie somewhat breathlessly. "I haven't…it's been so long…" Hunter slowly pulled the mirror away from him.

"Since what?" He asked, his voice tight. "It's been so long since what?" Duthie blinked and turned back to him, taking in his grim expression.

"Since I was trapped here, kid, like everyone else. Since the seals went up." A cold, unhappy realization settled itself into Hunter's gut and was reflected in his eyes all of a sudden as he closed them and lowered his head.

"Farore," he whispered. "Nayru and Din."

"Welcome," said Duthie, without any enthusiasm, "to the Dark World." Hunter said nothing for a long time, his head low and his eyes shut. Duthie didn't care. He, in fact, felt a sudden touch of smugness for having hurt him, however small, however insignificant. A petty revenge for a serious crime, but Duthie was seriously starting to doubt he'd ever get more.

At last, Hunter raised his head.

"So…what now?" He asked. Duthie raised a dull eyebrow at him.

"What now what?" He demanded.

"What do we do now?" Hunter pressed, frowning at him. "We're trapped in the Dark World, there's some kind of battle going on on the surface, and Link's a pink bunny. What the Hell do we do now?"

"What's this 'we'?" Duthie demanded. "The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I think the effort might undo everything that healing potion did."

"For love of Nayru," Hunter groaned. "You're not still thinking I'm the one who—" But Duthie raised a hand to stop him.

"I'm not thinking anything," he snapped. "I know enough to know there are multiple sides to every story. I know my side. I know your side. What I don't know," he paused and pointed at the trembling bundle in Hunter's lap, "is _his_ side. If what you say is, in fact, true, then I owe it to him not to end you right now. He tried to help me. It might not have…not have worked out, but he tried. He almost died for it. I can't…I won't forget that."

"Well that's all well and good," Hunter said softly, "but my question still stands. What do we do now? You want Link's story, we have to change Link back. How do we do it?"

"Are these rhetorical questions?" Duthie demanded irately. "How the Hell am I supposed to know?" Hunter didn't respond, but he didn't remove his gaze either, continuing to stare expectantly at him. Duthie sighed. "Farore. I don't know. I think I remember him saying something about him changing when the sun goes down. And he was perfectly normal when the sun was up, at any rate. Maybe…maybe we just need to wait 'till sun-up."

"All right," Hunter said slowly. "It's as good a plan as any. How long 'till sun-up?" When Duthie answered, his tone was dark and thick with years of experience waiting for the sun.

"Long enough, kid. Long enough."

*******

Durnam, over the course of his life, had often wondered about Free Will versus Fate. It was a trite argument, of course: throughout history many minds, far greater than his, had turned their thoughts to the question, and they had all come to conclusions far more profound than anything he could hope to come up with. And yet, it was something that every individual had to contend with over the course of their lives. Whether you were a great philosopher, or a simple farmer, at some point you would have to wonder as to the nature of Free Will and the nature of Fate, and the relation between them and yourself.

For Durnam, it was starting to look more and more like no matter what he chose, or what he thought he chose, his destiny was out of his hands.

"What matter?" Asked the thing in the doorway; it's voice was nasal and mean. "You not like being King?" Durnam ignored it, bracing his hands on the balcony rail and letting the cold wind whip across his face. Unfortunately, not even the chill of winter could cleanse the smell of ashes out of the air, or the inevitability of his predicament from his bones.

"How did you get here?" He said finally. His voice sounded older than he remembered. "Shouldn't you be off with your kin, pounding away at the Gerudo gates?" He couldn't really fathom how the creature – or _creatures_ as he feared the case might be – had made it to Castletown. As far as he knew, the other races were doing their utmost to keep the Moblins out of the borders. "Your master's dead." It made a noise that Durnam assumed was a snorting laugh.

"Wizard not master," it said, amused. "Wizard servant, like us. Wizard servant, like _you_."

"No," said Durnam, narrowing his eyes at the horizon. "No. I know who your master is. I won't serve him. I'll die first."

"If that your choice," said the thing indifferently. "Maybe Shenyan want be King." Durnam scowled.

"It has nothing to do with me being King or not," he snapped. "I won't hand Hyrule over to your master. I may not be Daphnes, but I'm strong enough for that." He wished he believed it, but he didn't. He didn't believe it. The Moblin didn't believe it. Even the wind sighed as though it didn't believe it. The Moblin shifted its weight.

"You have offer," it said, sounding bored. "We let you be King. We keep you safe. We end war faster. Less death."

"In exchange for _what_?" Durnam demanded, but the Moblin didn't answer, because Durnam already knew.

Somewhere in the western quarter of the city, something was burning. The wind carried the sounds of battle, and took them away again. It was quieter now, than it had been. The fighting was winding down for the night, but it was only a matter of time before it started up again. He wondered, distantly, if the curfew had really helped anything. It wasn't like he could spare the men to enforce it. Hell, half the men wouldn't listen to him, and had joined Eldrick's supporters in the street. What good was authority no one recognized?

He didn't want war. He didn't want Zelda and Daphnes to be dead – and probably Link along with them. He hadn't wanted to betray them, but what choice had he had? He didn't want to betray Zelda, but what choice had he had?

He didn't want any of what had happened, and yet he had been implicit – practically _integral_ – in almost all of it. But what choice had there been? He'd had his family to think of, after all – though he knew that was an excuse more than anything. It was an alibi. He loved his family, make no mistake about that, but his family could have been hidden. They could have been protected in other ways. There were other options. But the sheer inevitability of Agahnim's victory had rendered those options null and void. It made good sense. Better to be on the good side of the winner, after all.

How much difference could he have made, anyway, had he defied Agahnim? Wasn't he now in a much better position to change things? To right wrongs, and fight evil, and defend the innocent, like he had once upon a time believed his nobility required of him? He was King of Hyrule! All the power in the world was at his fingertips. He could…he could give money to the poor. He could provide care and medicine to the sick! He could create jobs for people who needed them, and make sure everyone had enough to eat, and other things along those lines – couldn't he?

And yet, Castletown was boiling over with unrest. He'd lost half the city guard. He'd lost more than half the people. He'd lost control of the entire market already – that firmly belonged to the supporters of Eldrick. How was he supposed to feed people, and change things for the better, if he couldn't even stop the civil war that threatened to tear Castletown apart? He couldn't even enforce a curfew, for Nayru's sake.

And that was the crux of it right there. He'd obtained his position by consorting with a force he hadn't fully understood. And now that he was just beginning to see it for what it really was, they'd placed the ball squarely in his court.

The only power he had, was whatever power they chose to give him.

The only changes he could make, were whatever changes they allowed him to.

And if he refused, they'd just replace him, and the end results would be the same.

At last, he hung his head.

"Fine," he said quietly. "I agree." The Moblin said nothing, but at last turned and left Durnam alone with nothing but his own guilt and the mournful wind to keep him company.

That was the thing about Fate, Durnam decided, pulling his coat tighter around himself. All it did was set the path before you – it left you the free will to decide whether or not to walk it. In the end, there was no one to blame but yourself, and no more crueller fate than the freedom to be responsible for every choice you make.

*******

Hunter stared up at the rough stone ceiling above him and tried to force his mind through everything he'd been through in the hours since he'd "woken up". He was really, desperately hoping it would all make sense once the sun came up and Link changed back – assuming they were right, and he even _would_ change back – because currently it wasn't making too much sense at all. There were too many wide open questions – gaping holes in logic and reason that defied any of the explanations provided by the information at hand. Duthie could probably answer a lot of them, but that would involve talking to Duthie, and Duthie was apparently still not fully convinced that Hunter wasn't a murderer, and on top of that was wounded and cranky and actually, mercifully, asleep at the moment.

Duthie didn't like Hunter, that much was clear, and Hunter doubted he'd even answer any questions anyway.

So instead Hunter tried and failed to answer them himself.

"This sucks," he muttered. The rabbit – which didn't appear any readier to sleep than Hunter was – squeaked its agreement. "Oh the upside," he noted, casting a glance down at the mound that concealed the creature, "if you ever do change back, I am going to get so much mileage off this whole…pink bunny thing, it's going to be fantastic." He sighed. "At least I know you got out of the Tower of Farore all right. Though…if you're here, maybe you didn't after all." That, of course, opened up a whole new line of questions about what, exactly had happened to Nabooru and Zelda and Link after Thomas had transported Hunter to Agahnim; however, before he could delve into this new black hole in his current understanding of the sequence of events, someone – who was distinctly not Duthie, and was also, distinctly very close – whispered his name.

Hunter bolted upright – causing the rabbit to give a shriek and thrash in the confines of his new and improved prison (a bag Duthie had provided for just such a purpose) – and cast a startled look around the small room. There was nothing in there that hadn't been when he'd first laid down. He narrowed his eyes and strained his ears, listening for it again, searching the shadows in the corners of the room for any hint of an interloper. There was none.

" _Hunter…_ "

He whipped his head around to stare at the door, standing ever so slightly ajar. He had thought the first whisper was inside the room, but that one had been outside. He tensed, staring apprehensively at the door. He briefly considered waking Duthie up, but promptly decided he would just accuse Hunter of trying to pull some kind of trick and not believe him anyway. The voice grew more insistent.

" _Hunter…_ "

He frowned and turned around, gathering up the bag/rabbit and pulling it on over his back. He loosened his sword in its sheath and crept over to the door, careful not to disturb Duthie. He placed his eye against the crack in the door and peered out into the dimly lit hallway: nothing there as far as he could see through the slim opening. He frowned and pulled back, debating the wisdom of responding to a disembodied voice calling his name given his current location and situation.

He cast a glance back over at Duthie and came to the conclusion that good ideas and bad ideas were entirely relative here. At least the voice apparently knew who he was – and besides that, was actually kind of familiar – and that, in and of itself, was cause enough to at least investigate. He pulled the door open as quietly as he could and slipped out into the hallway, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The rabbit struggled in the bag against his back, attempting to find a comfortable position, but Hunter was too busy scanning the hallway to notice.

It was empty.

He sighed and scratched his head.

"What the Hell is—"

" _Hunter_ …"

This time, when he whirled around, there was someone there – a woman, and worse yet, a woman he recognized. He froze with his sword halfway out of its sheath and felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen in shock.

"W-what!" he managed.

She smiled at him. She smiled at him, and for a moment, despite how pale and thin she was, despite the tracks on her cheeks from dried up tears, despite the fact that he could see the door into Duthie's room right through her, she looked just like his father's painting; just like his father had described, and how he still, sometimes remembered her in his fragmented dreams. Something in his heart wrenched violently to the side. She reached for him, as though to touch him, but stopped, just before her translucent fingers brushed his cheek, and her smile turned sad.

Without realizing he was doing it, Hunter slowly slid his sword back into its sheath.

"Mum…?" His head hurt suddenly. "How…what's…," but before he could even begin to formulate a coherent sentence, the door behind her whipped open.

"Hunt—Farore!" Duthie gasped and skidded to a stop as the spectre suddenly whirled around and lifted a finger to her lips in a harsh admonition. Duthie had gone paler than usual. "What are you doing here?" He hissed at her. "Blind's up on the surface. Why aren't you off harassing him?"

"What's going on?" Hunter demanded, voice tense. Duthie frowned at him.

"It's just a ghost," he said. "She's been following Blind around for a week. She keeps coming back even after he banishes her. Don't know what could have possibly dragged her out of her rut."

"A ghost?" Hunter repeated. "That…makes sense…sort of." He realized, for a moment, that he was actually kind of disappointed, though he had no idea what he'd been hoping for. She offered him an apologetic smile, which caused Duthie to raise an eyebrow.

"Do you know her?" He asked. "They don't normally…respond so well, unless—"

"She's my mother," Hunter interrupted him. "She died when I was small." Duthie thought about it for a moment, then apparently decided he didn't care.

"What are you doing out here?" He demanded, frowning suspiciously at Hunter, and choosing to ignore the ghostly woman entirely.

"She called me."

"She what?"

"She called me," Hunter repeated, irritated now. "I heard her calling my name, so I came out to see who it was." His voice had risen, and his mother's ghost turned to him, lifting her finger to her lips again. She pointed down the hallway. Hunter frowned and looked in the direction she gestured in.

"There's something down there?"

"It's probably just the crew coming back," Duthie replied. "I don't know how long I've been out, but they're long overdue as it is." But Aeria of the Sheikah had not yet removed her eyes from her son.

"No. No there's something else," he said, then frowned. He squinted down the hallway for a moment more, then turned back to face her, but she was gone. He blinked in surprise. "Mum?"

"She disappeared," said Duthie, still frowning in the direction she had been pointing. "They do that."

"Where did she disappear _to_?" Hunter demanded.

"Wherever it is she was before," Duthie responded irately. "Look, ghosts aren't generally capable of independent thought. Ever since this place became the Dark World, souls that leave the world behind come here, and remain here, doing whatever it was they were doing when they died. Most of them you can't even see. Unless they were of a particularly strong will when they died, they're invisible to the naked eye, and it's _really_ difficult to 'wake them up.'"

"That's the afterlife?" Hunter demanded, horrified. "Dying for the rest of eternity? That's what happens when we die?"

"What _don't_ you understand about the fact that this is Hell?" Duthie responded dully. Hunter frowned unhappily at him for a moment, considering the implications of that, then turned without another word and headed down the corridor in the direction his mother's ghost had been pointing.

"Where are you going?" Duthie hissed. "I thought we were waiting for sun-up."

"That was _before_ the ghost of my mother wanted me to head down this corridor," he snapped in a whisper. "And keep your voice down."

"Din's blood," Duthie swore under his breath. "Listen, kid, you're more of a fool than I thought if you're going to listen to the advice of a ghost. They're so caught up in their own deaths, they don't understand the way things _really_ are, do you understand? They're not _seeing_ reality."

"She saw me just fine," Hunter noted.

"Well," Duthie faltered. "Well, I suppose that might be enough to wake her up a bit. Family is often…but it doesn't mean she's _lucid_. It doesn't mean she knows what's going on. Maybe when she died there was something down this way that—," they rounded the corner, "—sweet merciful Din!" Hunter hissed in annoyance and grabbed the back of Duthie's shirt, dragging him back behind the corner before he could walk all the way around it.

"Moblins," Hunter said darkly, peering carefully around the corner's edge and narrowing his eyes. "Still think she wasn't lucid?"

"Could be coincidence," Duthie noted. "Or maybe not. I don't know. What are they doing down here?"

"Do I _look_ like a Moblin?" Hunter demanded, then frowned. "Actually, _they_ don't look like Moblins. They're too small…" Duthie gave him the same look he'd given him when Hunter had said he'd never heard of God. "What _now_!" Hunter demanded irately, keeping an eye on the little Moblins in the next room. They were hissing and whispering to each other, apparently arguing over something. A quick headcount revealed about six of them, which was more than Hunter was willing to bet he could take on his own, and Duthie was certainly in no shape for it.

"Of course they're Moblins," Duthie said flatly. "They aren't all warriors, you know."

"You're kidding me," Hunter said. "The only Moblins I've ever seen have been warriors…sort of. Brutes, at any rate."

"Whatever," Duthie said, shaking his head. "Either way we can't stay here. I don't know how they figured out how to get down here, or _why_ , but hopefully we can lose them in the tunnels. It won't be long before they put up some detection spells, if they haven't already, so we need to—"

"Moblin _mages_!"

"Rare, but it happens," Duthie said. He shook his head. "Now quit gawking and let's go."

"Yes," said a harsh, guttural voice from behind them. Hunter whipped around and his eyes widened. Three of the small Moblins – though they weren't all _that_ small now that he was up close to them – had come up behind them when they weren't looking, all of them brandishing wicked looking Moblin long swords. "You go with us now."

"I'm sorry," Hunter managed, Sheikah training kicking in despite his shock at being addressed in his own language by a Moblin. He quickly calculated all possible escape trajectories. "Did you just speak Hylian?" The Moblin was apparently not in the mood for a discussion of the intricacies of language.

"You go with us!" It repeated, gesturing threateningly with its weapon.

"Call them off," Duthie hissed in a frantic whisper. Hunter resisted the urge to stare incredulously at him.

"They're not _mine_. They don't listen to me!"

"They do! Look at their robes! They're Children of the Cleric!"

"No talk!" Snapped the Moblin, scowling menacingly. Hunter kept a wary eye on it, but ignored the order.

"I _told you_ , I'm not—"

" _They_ don't know that," Duthie hissed back. Hunter hesitated for a moment more, but the Moblins were starting to look like they were through with asking nicely. He gave up.

_It's worth a shot…_

"All right fine," he snapped, hoping whoever it was that Duthie thought he was, was prone to irritation. "But the Cleric isn't going to be happy when he finds out you're wasting my time." The Moblin raised a coarse eyebrow at him.

"Cleric dead," he said bluntly. "We find body. Give weapon."

"What do you mean the Cleric's dead!" Hunter demanded, resisting the urge to shoot Duthie a desperate look. He didn't know nearly enough about the situation to be bluffing like this. But Duthie's face had suddenly twisted in pain and he stumbled into the wall. _Great,_ Hunter thought to himself. _Fantastic. He's reopened something. This is_ perfect

"Give weapon," the Moblin repeated, and Hunter was horrified to realize as he met its ugly porcine eyes that despite the broken Hylian and the fact that the thing looked, moved and acted like a skinny, crooked Moblin, there was intelligence in those eyes. This thing, whatever it was, was nothing like the Moblins back home.

"Look," he said, reaching slowly for the buckle of his belt to appease the impatient Moblin as one of the other two moved towards Duthie, who was doubled over against the wall, "I don't…I didn't know the Cleric was dead, but that doesn't change the fact that you're wasting my—" The Moblin leaned close enough that Hunter had to fight back his gag reflex.

"We know you not Cleric," he said menacingly. "Cleric dead. We know you maiden." Hunter balked with his hand at his waist.

"Now just a minute," he said, offended. "Was it _entirely_ necessary to call me a—" But he was cut off as the Moblin approaching Duthie suddenly gave an ear-splitting squeal and fell backwards, away from Duthie, several long gouges in its face. The wounds didn't look that bad, but the Moblin didn't get back up again.

"Go!" Duthie shouted, leaping at the next closest Moblin. Never one to waste a distraction, Hunter ripped his sword out of its sheath just in time to drag it across the hand of the Moblin in front of him, as it reacted to Duthie's shout by reaching out to grab Hunter.

_Why didn't it use its weapon?_ Hunter wondered distractedly as he slashed at the Moblin again and forced it back a step. He didn't have the time to dwell on it now, though. He could hear the group of Moblins around the corner pounding in their direction, alerted by the sounds of the struggle. He barely registered the new threat, however, because two slashes later (and _still_ the Moblin didn't attack him with its sword) his opponent unexpectedly pitched forward, causing Hunter to scramble out of its way. Behind it stood Duthie, panting furiously, claws covered in blood.

"Move," was all he said, turning on his heel and bolting down the corridor. Hunter wasted no time in following him.

"Your claws are poison?" Hunter demanded as they ran. Shouts sounded from behind them as the Moblins realized what had happened.

"Yes," Duthie answered shortly. Hunter narrowed his eyes.

"So was that enough proof for you? Do you believe I'm not who you thought I was _now_?"

"…yes," Duthie said finally, grudgingly.

"Where are—"

"Kid, shut up and run."

The rabbit moaned miserably, as Hunter shut up and ran.

*******

"Well, well!" Said Eldrick senior with all the joviality one might expect him to offer an unexpected guest at the door, as opposed to one who scaled the outside wall and broke in through a bedroom window before working his way to the war room. "Brayden of the Sheikah! What brings you to my humble home in these dark times?" Eldrick junior, still young and lacking the years of experience of his father, was having trouble covering up his surprise.

"How did you get in here!" He demanded, then abruptly quailed under a harsh look from his father.

"Dorian! Watch your tone with the Sheikah, boy." He turned smoothly back to Brayden and tipped his head. "Apologies." Brayden tipped his head to indicate no offence had been taken. Dorian appeared for a moment to be attempting to swallow his pride (and subsequently choking on it), but kept his mouth shut and added his own apologetic nod to the exchange. Brayden offered him a smile that didn't go all the way to his eyes.

"At any rate," Eldrick senior said, taking his seat at the head of the table, "why don't you have a seat, Brayden, and enlighten us as to the purpose of your visit." Brayden shook his head.

"No thank you," he said. "I won't be long." He waited until both Eldricks had taken their seats before continuing. "Forgive my lack of manners," he said, "but as I've said I'm in something of a rush, so I'm going to be blunt. The Sheikah are less than happy with the current situation in Castletown, and a heaping helping of the blame is being directed squarely your way."

"Interesting," Eldrick senior noted. "May I assume that you will not be offended if I am blunt as well?" Brayden gestured that he wouldn't be. "Then let me ask you this: have the Sheikah spontaneously abandoned their responsibilities to the Hyrule family, and their respect for Hylian law? What Durnam and his followers are doing is tantamount to treason. Without solid proof of the Queen's demise, I'm afraid none of them have any legal right to claim the throne."

"First and foremost," Brayden said with a severe frown, "you know well enough that the Sheikah's concern is _Hyrule,_ not the Family of the same name. In addition, while we respect Hylian law, we have our own laws to follow, and in the event of an irreconcilable difference between the two, we will follow our own." He waited until Eldrick acknowledged this before continuing. "Having said that, our issue is not with your argument." He paused. "It's with your timing."

"Some things wait for no one," Dorian snapped, apparently unable to remain quiet any longer. "Were we supposed to allow those dogs to have their way until such a time as the Sheikah decided they were prepared to deal with them? You are not the only ones concerned for Hyrule." Eldrick senior shot him a warning look, then turned back to Brayden.

"Though he speaks out of turn, my son – passionate though he may be – brings up a valid point. Something had to be done. We couldn't have allowed Durnam to entrench himself on the Throne. We might never have been able to extricate him."

"You are _both_ afflicted with tunnel vision," Brayden responded bluntly. "Hyrule extends past the Golden Palace, Eldrick, and it's people are more varied than just the Hylians. Did you consider the implications of a Civil War in Castletown on the rest of Hyrule? Do you have any _idea_ of what's going on outside of Castletown?"

"An excellent question," Eldrick said, leaning back in his chair and looking thoughtful. "What do I know about what's happening outside of Castletown. Let's see…I know that the combined forces of Goron and Sheikah have managed to hold the mountain passes, but that the Moblin army grows larger every day. I know that the Zora are fighting at Lake Hylia, though I don't know what, and I must admit I am concerned by how tightly that information is being held. I understand that the Moblins are pressing in at our borders and doing their best to break the line, but that so far they have been unsuccessful, though the war is still young." Brayden waited for him to finish. When Eldrick gestured that he had, Brayden raised an eyebrow.

"And the Gerudo?" He asked. Eldrick offered him a thin smile.

"Apologies," he said. "I had understood we were discussing _Hyrule_." Brayden forced his mind to blank out for a split second, blocking the sudden surge of irritation and anger that inevitably resulted from that particular attitude regarding the Gerudo. This situation was complicated enough without losing his temper now – never mind that his wife was a Gerudo who had died fighting on Hyrule's side of the Great War (though admittedly not by choice), and his son was the Gerudo _King_ who had sacrificed more than Brayden cared to think about for Hyrule, and _Neesha_ , a _Gerudo_ , was practically his _adopted daughter_ (also, not by her choice).

"Let me make something painfully clear to you," he said stiffly, keeping his arms crossed over his chest to avoid using them to strangle Eldrick senior. "To _both_ of you. Whether you like it or not, Hyrule's future is entangled with the Gerudo. They're holding the line in the desert, the same as the Sheikah and the Gorons at Death Mountain, and the Zora at Lake Hylia. They're doing their part for Hyrule, which is currently more than I can say for the two of you."

"Now just a minute—" started Eldrick senior, but Brayden cut him off, getting to his point at last.

"I don't think you understand how serious the situation is," he snapped. "Those Moblins? They're _first-generation_. _All of them_." Eldrick raised an eyebrow.

"Surely you jest," he said. "I understood they had a few in their ranks commanding them, but where would you find that many Great War Moblins these days?"

"Straight from the source," Brayden answered flatly. "Eldrick, Agahnim has manipulated the seals put on the Sacred Realm by the Sages. The Moblins are getting out. The old ones. I'm sure I don't need to remind you just exactly how bad that is for us." Dorian raised an eyebrow and looked over at his father, but the older Eldrick had a concerned look on his face.

"And you begin to see just how ill-timed this whole _stunt_ is," Brayden said. Eldrick was silent for a moment more, before finally shaking his head.

"Then end the civil war," he said, frowning. "Go in and oust Durnam and the others. Put them in jail, hang them, I don't care. Name yourself a regent until you can prove or disprove Zelda's death. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised the Sheikah haven't _already_ taken action. As displeased as you are with us, you must be _livid_ with Durnam."

"That's just it," Brayden said, leaning up against the wall and shaking his head. "We _can't_. We've recalled _all_ of our agents in Castletown." Eldrick raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Impossible," he said. "I would have known."

"Why? Because of Renaud?" Brayden offered him a smirk. "He may be passive, but he's still a Sheikah. If we ask him to keep quiet, he keeps quiet." He shook his head again. "Like it or not, I'm it, Eldrick. I'm all the Sheikah can spare to deal with Castletown and its thrice damned civil war. Holding the borders requires everyone we have."

Eldrick said nothing, and he didn't react, but that, in and of itself betrayed his surprise and the slow dawning of realization as he began to see the complications he hadn't predicted. Brayden leaned forward onto the table to drive his point home.

"Do you understand now?" He asked quietly, narrowing his eyes. "You're on your own, Eldrick. We can't help you. _You_ started this war, and now its up to _you_ to end it." He straightened again without releasing Eldrick's gaze. "Because _we_ can't." Eldrick shook his head slowly and at last allowed a frown to cross his face.

"We need time…to consider this," he said. "The situation is certainly more complicated than we had at first assumed, but—"

"Lord Eldrick!" Everyone in the room turned in surprise as the door burst open and Renaud rushed in. He paused for only a moment to blink at Brayden, then shook himself and turned back to his master. "There's a large group of armed men on their way to the market, sir. My source is not completely reliable, but I'm given to understand they're not yours."

"What!" Eldrick demanded, getting to his feet. "Who's sent them?"

"It appears that Durnam has, sir."

"That thrice-blinded son-of-a-bile eater!" Eldrick snarled. "He can't _possibly—_ never mind. Renaud, how sure are you?"

"Not so sure that I didn't take a quick run out to confirm for myself. There is _certainly_ a large patrol headed in that direction, though I have no way of confirming their motives until they demonstrate them."

"Then we'll just make sure we're ready when they do," Eldrick growled. He turned to Brayden. "Sorry to cut this short, Brayden, but I'm sure you understand." But Brayden wasn't listening. He was frowning at Renaud.

"What is it, Renaud?" He asked. "There's something else." Renaud offered him a frown.

"Well," he said, "I wasn't sure if I should say anything but…there's something odd about the patrol."

"Something odd? Like what?" Eldrick demanded.

"I don't precisely know, sir," Renaud answered. "I couldn't put my finger on it. It's just a…a feeling."

"Well, whatever it is, we'll meet it head on, won't we boy?"

"Yes sir," said Dorian eagerly.

"Come on," said Eldrick, "we'll go begin preparations. Renaud, show Brayden out safely."

"Yes sir," said Renaud, bowing – though not before Brayden caught the hint of a frown playing on his face. He waited until the Eldricks were gone.

"Need help?" He offered neutrally.

"If you wouldn't mind," Renaud said, equally neutrally.

"My assignment is the civil war," Brayden answered with a shrug. "I daresay this is a development related to that. Anything you want to tell me that you wouldn't tell them?" Renaud thought about it.

"Just be careful," he advised. "I don't know what it was about those troops, but there's something wrong here."

"I don't know where you've been, friend," Brayden answered grimly, "but lately there's nothing right."

*******

"This shouldn't be happening," Duthie hissed under his breath as he and Hunter pressed themselves up against the wall and waited for the group of Moblins patrolling to move past. "There's no way they should be able to follow us this closely. How do they know the tunnels?"

"Well," Hunter hissed back angrily, "I hate to break it to you, but it _is_ happening. They apparently know the tunnels just fine. And we are so, _unbelievably_ screwed it's not even funny."

"There's got to be _somewhere_ —"

"There _isn't_ ," Hunter snapper, glaring at him. "Every turn we've taken they've been there. Every back passage we've run down, they've followed. We can't shake them down here. We have to go up."

"And if that's their whole purpose? To shepherd us into a trap by forcing us up?"

"Then we spring their goddess-damned trap and that's the end of us," Hunter hissed, "but it's still better than sitting here and _waiting_ for them to find us."

"Well…what about bluffing again?"

"I tried that, remember?" Hunter demanded. "Then they said a bunch of stuff that made no sense, and called me a girl. _Obviously_ , that's not the way to go here."

"All right _fine_ ," Duthie snapped. "We go up. But I want it clear that we're screwed either way, so don't get your hopes up."

"It would take a super human effort at this point to raise my hopes above anything non-existent, so lead the way." Duthie heaved an irritated sigh and crept carefully back towards the mouth of the little nook they'd hidden themselves in. Hunter stayed where he was for a tense moment, until finally Duthie gestured that the way was clear.

"Maybe it's a spell," he muttered as they slipped out into the main corridors again and headed opposite the way the party of Moblins had been going. "That must be how they're doing it. But then, why didn't they do it long ago? Why now?" He fell silent again as they crept down the corridors, moving as quickly as they dared. It seemed like the number of Moblins had _doubled_ in the last few minutes, and the last thing they needed was to accidentally stumble on a group of them, or make some kind of noise that would give them away.

"What are they after?" Hunter asked as they drew closer to where Duthie had indicated the exit was. "It can't possibly be us…"

"Well," said Duthie, "I don't know exactly. I know they were working for the Cleric, posing as his phoney priests. I suspect that the thing with bat wings you say Link killed was actually their God. Maybe they're angry it's dead. Maybe they think we did it."

"What about the faceless guy? Maybe they're looking for him." Duthie shrugged.

"People come all shapes and sizes," he said. "He could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn't one of Blind's, though, I can tell you that much." It hadn't seemed to Hunter like the guy had been anywhere but exactly where he'd meant to be, but he didn't see much point in arguing that with Duthie. "We need to find the others," Duthie said. "Safety in numbers, right? Assuming they're not all dead."

"What others?" Hunter demanded.

"Blind's thieves," Duthie answered, then stopped and gestured for Hunter to do the same. "The exit's just ahead," he whispered, pointing at a sudden bend in the tunnel. The grey light of pre-dawn leaked its way around the edges of the corner. "But it's probably guarded. If there's this many of them down here, and if they actually know the tunnels – and they certainly seem to – they I doubt they want whatever it is they're after getting out."

"Stay here, then," Hunter said. "I'll scout ahead and see what we're up against." Duthie frowned dubiously.

"Don't let them see you," he said. "If they call for backup…"

"Hey," Hunter said, slipping into what was left of the shadows against the wall, "I'm a Sheikah. We're _bred_ for this type of thing." Duthie watched him until he rounded the corner and then continued to stare at the spot where he'd disappeared for a moment after that. He felt eerily alone all of a sudden. It wasn't that he liked the kid – he didn't. He never would. Even if he _wasn't_ the guy who betrayed Kilgan, he still _looked_ like the guy who betrayed Kilgan, and Duthie would _never_ be able to get over that – but he'd provided enough of a distraction over the course of the long night that Duthie had been able to stave off the memory of his brother's still warm body. Now that the kid had rounded the corner and was out of sight, the weight of the memory was threatening to crush him again, and he suddenly, desperately wished that the boy would come back.

_It's my fault,_ he thought to himself despite his best attempts not to. _I'm the one who wanted to find the bloody Triforce. I'm the one who dragged him here in the first place…._ He shook his head. _Stupid thing was supposed to fix all of our problems…_

A noise behind him caught his attention before he could sink any further into this particular line of thought – a rock falling, or something similar. He turned, almost negligently to see what had made the noise, but was jolted out of his misery when he caught the eyes of a chagrined looking Moblin, heading up a small group of them that had evidently been sneaking up behind him. Duthie thought he saw a slim, translucent shape disappear behind the Moblins, but before he could consider it, the Moblins got over their annoyance at being caught and started forward at a flat run. He snarled and whirled around, pounding down the hallway after Hunter.

"Hunter!" He shouted as he ran. "Hunter, _run!_ They've found us!" An arrow zipped over his head, entirely too close for comfort. As he rounded the corner he saw a startled Hunter staring at him. " _Run!_ " He repeated, as the Moblins followed him around the corner. Hunter turned to run, but the Moblins had caught up to Duthie at last. One of them caught him from behind with the tip of its sword – barely enough to draw blood, but more than enough to destroy the already wounded man's balance. He fell forward under the impact, and Hunter ground his teeth and reversed direction, drawing his sword as he went.

He threw himself at the Moblin lunging down at Duthie to finish him off and forced it to revert its attention back up to him, or be run through.

"What are you doing!" Duthie demanded, pushing himself to his hands and knees.

"What does it look like!" Hunter threw back at him, scowling at the Moblin as it blocked his slashes, but didn't attack. The other two promptly ignored Duthie and moved to attempt to flank Hunter. Duthie slashed out with one hand at the legs of one, but his claws only scraped against the metal in its boots. He ground his teeth and tried to force himself to his knees as the third tried to grab Hunter from behind. The young Sheikah twisted like a cat and evaded its grip, but it took a piece of the bag on his back with it. The rabbit – true to form – gave a terrified shriek and abruptly began to struggle in what was left of the bag, throwing Hunter off balance as he attempted to jump back from the first Moblin, who was trying to grab him again. He stumbled back and tripped over Duthie who was being largely ignored by the Moblins. The two of them went crashing back to the ground – Duthie giving a hollow gasp of pain as they struck the unforgiving stone floor. Hunter caught a glimpse of a pink streak tearing out from under him, and he twisted on top of Duthie – prompting another gasp – to try to grab the rabbit before it could escape, but he wasn't nearly fast enough. It was off like a shot for the exit to the tunnel, running hell-for-leather between the legs of the two Moblins who had evidently been waiting outside the exit with a net – which they now thoughtfully threw over Hunter and Duthie before either of them could do anything about it. Immediately afterwards, every sword in the area was pointed at them.

"I _told_ you it was a trap," Duthie snarled. Hunter was too busy swearing to respond. One of the Moblins gave a harsh laugh and said something to its buddies in their own language.

"What now?" Hunter asked under his breath as the Moblins began to discuss something – presumably what to do with their new prisoners.

"We lay down and die," Duthie responded hoarsely. "If you want to try to escape, kid, you're on your own. I've reopened just about everything I think. I'm bleeding to death all over you. I'll be lucky to be able to stand, let alone get out of this net." Hunter opened his mouth to respond, but for once found himself out of ideas. He fell silent as the Moblins continued to deliberate between themselves. Every now and then, one of them would gesture in Hunter's direction. "You know," Duthie said after a moment, "I'm starting to think it's you they're after." Hunter suddenly felt bone-tired.

"Yeah," he said wearily. "Me too. Maybe you're not the only one who thinks I'm someone I'm not."

The Moblins argued for a few more minutes, but at last appeared to come to some kind of conclusion. One of them put away its sword and turned to the two prisoners.

"We take weapons," it grunted at them. "You run, you fight, you die." Hunter tensed and scowled – his sword was a family heirloom, and had been given to him by his father. He was _not_ about to just give it up to a Moblin – but a painful grunt from Duthie brought him back around to the current situation. Whatever fight he put up, Duthie would pay for it. He was sure of that much, given the Moblins' reluctance to harm him, and he was pretty sure that his father would value someone else's safety over that of a sword, no matter how important.

Some heirlooms weren't material, and Hunter knew which ones really mattered.

He gingerly climbed off of Duthie as the Moblin pulled back the net, then got to his feet and unbuckled his sword belt. He held it out to the Moblin with more than a little reluctance, and then proceeded to divest himself of his multitude of hidden knives. The Moblin discarded each weapon as he handed it over almost negligently on the floor.

"Turn," it barked. Hunter's scowl darkened, but he did as he was told. "Hands." He placed his hands behind his back and a moment later the Moblin was binding them tight enough to make Hunter wince.

_That's going to leave a mark,_ he thought bitterly.

"Move," the Moblin snapped. Hunter blinked.

"What?" He said. "What about—" The Moblin cut him off by shoving him towards the cave's exit. Hunter cast a desperate glance back at Duthie, but he had his eyes closed and appeared more concerned with keeping pressure on his chest – which was once again soaked through with blood – than with whatever the Moblins were doing with Hunter. The Moblin shoved him forward again.

"Move," it repeated. "Friend be dead soon enough. Not you worry."

"Farore," Hunter hissed, but did as he was told. The Moblins lead him out of the subterranean caverns and he squinted as he stumbled out of the mouth of the cave and into the red dawn. He cast a less-than-hopeful look around, hoping to see a glimpse of green clothes and blue eyes, but so far as he could see there wasn't any.

_Even if he_ did _turn back,_ Hunter thought to himself listlessly, _at the speed that rabbit moves he's probably long gone from here._ He frowned ruefully. "Din, what I wouldn't give for the Master Sword right now," he muttered under his breath.

"Well you can't have it," said a familiar voice from the left. "But I've got a few deku nuts you can have." Hunter – who had gotten into and out of more than enough scrapes with the wayward Hero of Time to know the routine – allowed his spirits to lift, his mouth to twist into a grin, and his eyes to shut as tightly as he could manage. Not more than an instant later he heard the definitive crackling of several deku nuts going off at once, and even with his eyes shut the sudden shift in light levels was painful. The Moblins all cried out with ear-splitting squeals and the one immediately behind him stumbled away.

"Overkill much?" He asked as he felt someone grab his hands behind his back and slide a knife between them, slicing easily through his bonds. "You usually use one."

"Are you Blind?" Link demanded.

"No, I shut my eyes, like I always do," Hunter answered.

"That's not what I meant, but it'll have to do," Link replied, shoving a Gerudo scimitar into Hunter's hands just as one of the nearest Moblins – dirty tears weaving tracks down their crooked faces as they strained to make their eyes work again – dove towards the sound of their voices. Link shoved Hunter to the side and drew the Master Sword as he went. It was on fire before it was even out of the sheath, and the Moblin snarled when the weapon met his own. Link wasted no time in spinning around to counter the blow, and the half-blinded Moblin couldn't do anything to stop him. His blade cut through the un-armoured Moblin easily and it fell to the side with a cut-off cry. Hunter took the scimitar and immediately lunged at the next closest Moblin, giving it no quarter despite its disadvantage. It felt vaguely unfair, even if it _was_ a Moblin, but Link didn't seem willing to afford them any quarter, and they had certainly given Hunter no reason to seriously consider doing so.

By the time the last Moblin had finally regained an acceptable use of his sight, it was too late. The Master Sword cut through it as easily as it had the previous Moblins, and it fell to the ground and didn't move again. Link stood panting over its fallen form for a minute, some kind of internal struggle written on his face. Hunter held his breath, something in Link's expression reminding him of the giant wolfos that Link had turned into. At last, however, Link wiped absently at the Moblin blood on his face, and seemed to regain control of himself. He looked up at Hunter and frowned.

"What happened?" He asked. "What happened to the Sentinel?" Hunter frowned.

"Sentinel?" He asked, then blinked in surprise. "You mean like a _makani_?" This seemed to take Link aback a bit, and he stared at Hunter for a moment.

"Who…who's the Sage of Shadow?" He demanded suddenly. Hunter frowned at him.

"What the Hell kind of question is that?" He demanded.

"Just answer it."

"Impa," Hunter responded. "Everybody knows that." Link squinted at him, studying his face. "Look," Hunter said, "you're kind of creeping me out, and as much as I would like to know what's disconnected in your brain, an apparent mutual friend of ours is back there bleeding to death and I really think we should—"

"What friend?" Link asked, surprised.

"Uh…Duthie? He said he knew—"

"What!" Link gasped. "Duthie's _alive_!"

"Um…yes? He seems to think I've killed his brother and I'd really like you to clarify for him that I didn't." Link frowned.

"Is this…is this some kind of trick?" He asked finally. Hunter, thoroughly perplexed by this point, and unbelievably irritated at Link's odd behaviour, frowned darkly at him.

"What trick!" He demanded. "Why would I trick you?" But Link was shaking his head.

"You are…but you _can't_ be…"

"Look," Hunter said, doing his best to keep his tone even, "obviously, there are large parts of what's happened missing for all of us. Let's just…let's just go get Duthie, and I'll feed him one of my last potions, and maybe we can sort this out, but we need to go _now_ because he's _really_ badly hurt, and there's no telling how long before the Moblins find him again, all right?" Link shifted his weight.

"All right," he said finally. "But you go first, and if Duthie's not in there, and this is a trick, you aren't going to live to regret it."

"Whatever," Hunter said after a stunned pause. He turned around and started jogging back to the cave entrance. Link's face lost a bit of colour when he spotted the unmoving figure on the ground just inside.

"Oh my Goddess," he breathed. "Duthie! He _is_ alive!" They scrambled back over to the unconscious man and Hunter pulled out another potion bottle as he dropped to his knees.

"Bastard owes me two potions now," he muttered. "These things don't grow on trees. Tip his head back." Link did as instructed and Hunter poured the thick red liquid down Duthie's throat. The strange man moaned, and after a moment, his eyes fluttered open. They took in Link's face and he gasped and attempted to abruptly sit upright, but gasped in pain and clutched at his chest again.

"Duthie," Link said. "Is Kilgan—" Duthie's face twisted in a pain that had nothing to do with his chest.

"No," he said thickly. "No, we were too late for Kilgan. I was just…lucky. I guess." Link frowned and opened his mouth to say more, but Hunter interrupted him.

"We need to get out of here," he said. "There are more Moblins in the caverns."

"He's right," said Duthie, before Link could say anything. "Need to…move…"

"All right," Link said after a moment. He took one of Duthie's arms, and Hunter took the other. "Brace yourself, Duthie. This is going to hurt." As one, he and Hunter got to their feet, Duthie draped over their shoulders.

"Ow," Duthie managed.

They staggered back out of the cave, and over the bodies of the Moblins, and headed for the thick tree line in the distance.

"You have my mirror," Link noted as they dragged Duthie into the trees.

"I didn't realize it was yours, but I've got it, yeah."

"Good," Link grunted. "Because I think it's going to be our only shot at straightening this whole mess out."

"All right," said Hunter, because that made about as much sense as anything else around here seemed to. "So…are we really in the Dark World?" Link cast him a wary glance out of the corner of one blue eye.

"Yeah," he said. "We are."

"Are we—"

"Look," Link interrupted him, sounding more tired than Hunter had ever heard him sound, "no offence if you really _are_ Hunter, but…just in case it turns out you're not, I don't want to explain anything until I'm sure. I've already explained this situation once, and I don't really feel like repeating it, only to find out you're not actually Hunter. It gets kind of…depressing." Hunter fell silent, swallowing the hundreds of questions he wanted to ask. It occurred to him that the other two probably had their own questions to ask and that whatever had taken place, likely hadn't been anything straightforward, or easily explained.

"On the upside," he noted thoughtfully after a moment, "you're not a pink rabbit anymore…"

*******

It was possible, on most days, to forget that the Deku Tree Sprout, for all his greenness and youth, carried behind him the wisdom and power of the generations of Deku Trees before him – and a generation of trees is a long time indeed. It was possible to forget that he was perhaps the only being left in the world who remembered the forming of it, even if he had not physically been there himself. It was possible to forget that whatever state his physical form, he was as old as the world, and as wise as those years could make him.

It was possible, on most days, to forget that "Deku Tree" came before "Sprout."

Most days, perhaps, but not this one.

On this one, it seemed to Mido, that the Deku Tree Sprout was really more 'Tree' than he'd ever seen him. It wasn't that he had grown – though he was much taller than Mido now – it wasn't that he'd sprouted more leaves in the Lost Woods' eternal summer. But there was something in his eyes that Mido recognized as belonging not only to adults, but to _old_ adults. To _powerful_ adults. Like the Sages. Like Link, even, from time to time.

On the one hand, it reminded him of just how young he was, and how vulnerable, and how helpless in the face of the dark things happening outside the shelter of the Woods.

One the other, it reminded him of Saria, who was just as young as he, and who always seemed to know what to say and when and who never failed to believe that as small as they were, maybe the Kokiri had a place in the world like everyone else.

But the sad, heavy look in the Deku Tree Sprout's eyes wasn't the same as Saria's. It was, Mido was certain, the same look the Great Deku Tree used to get sometimes, when a conversation would unexpectedly veer off into something serious and he would grow distant and quiet and that look would steal over him. The Kokiri never interrupted when he got that look; partly out of respect, but also partly out of fear. It was, after all, an adult's look, and anytime adult problems worked their way into the Woods it was never a good thing.

But now the Deku Tree Sprout was looking at Mido, and he had that look, and they hadn't even started a conversation yet. He had been summoned, and he had gone as quickly as he could to the glade because that was just how it was done. And he had come in in a rush, but now he felt himself slowing down exponentially, suddenly afraid to reach the Deku Tree Sprout because he looked like he had something hugely important to say, and for some reason that, coupled with that look, made Mido want to cry – and everybody knew that Mido was the toughest _real_ Kokiri around and he never cried (except that one time, after he thought Link had run away into the world because of him and gotten himself killed like the stupid idiot he was, but he had cried in his house, in private, and no one – especially Link – would ever know that, _ever_ ).

It occurred to him suddenly that his fairy guardian had momentarily abandoned him. He cast a look over his shoulder and spotted the bright spot of light in the otherwise dim starlight, fluttering back and forth in a sad pattern at the entrance to the glade. Mido's stomach twisted unpleasantly.

"Mido," the Deku Tree Sprout said gravely as Mido finally came to a stop in front of him, dread and hesitation in his face. It occurred to Mido that he'd never been addressed 'gravely' before. It also occurred to Mido that he didn't much like it.

"H-Hullo Deku Tree Sprout," Mido said nervously. "I was—you, um… you wanted to see me?"

"I did," the Sprout confirmed.

"Is it—is it about me breaking the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie? 'Cause that was totally an accident and I only lied about it because…because…" His voice died off and he promptly wished he could die with it. This wasn't about the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie, no matter how badly he wished it could be about the Know-It-All Brothers' thingie. He knew what it was about.

"It's the Moblins, isn't it?" He asked in a voice so quiet he almost didn't hear himself. The Deku Tree Sprout gave a very tree-ish nod.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "You've seen them for yourself, I assume?" Mido nodded silently. He had. He'd disobeyed the Sprout's direct order that the Kokiri should stay out of the main body of the Woods and ventured in anyway, determined to see what was so dangerous that the Deku Tree Sprout would forbid them from venturing into their usual playgrounds. He'd seen it all right. He'd seen more than he'd ever wanted to see. They were ugly and loud and they felt like something Mido had never felt before. He'd sensed it, distantly, like a whisper, sometimes – around the Sages, and around Link more strongly. Sometimes when Link drew his sword he could feel it, just barely, singing around the edges of the blade. It had something to do with being an adult, and nothing to do with being Kokiri, and Mido didn't have a word to put to the feeling. But whatever it was, the Moblins had radiated it.

"I was wondering, actually," Mido said when the Deku Tree Sprout said nothing, "why you let me do it." He forced himself to meet the young tree's old eyes. "You could have stopped me."

"I could have," the Deku Tree Sprout said softly, "but I needed you to see it."

"Why?" Mido whispered.

"Because I am about to ask of you something that I have never asked of any of my Kokiri, with the exception of Link, who is, as you know, a special case." Mido forced himself to remain silent, despite the flip-flops of fear his stomach was doing. As far as he knew, the Deku Tree had only ever asked one thing of Link, but Link wasn't a _real_ Kokiri, even if he was an _almost_ -real Kokiri, and Mido wasn't ever going to grow up, and he had been in the Lost Woods for as long as he could remember, and he didn't even rightly know how long that was, and he didn't even know what was outside the Woods except for what he'd seen in pictures and though he'd always kind of wanted to see those things for real, and they'd been exciting so long as they were just pictures, the thought of them now just frightened him to the point where all he wanted was to be sick and he wished he'd never gone to see those stupid Moblins in the first place.

"But I'm just a little kid," he managed, his voice trembling.

"I know, Mido," said the Sprout gently. "But sometimes little things can do big things. Sometimes they're the only ones who can."

"Did I—did I do something wrong?"

"No, Mido, of course not!" Said the Sprout. "But you are the bravest of my Kokiri. You are the one who has always done his best to protect me, and the Woods, and his brothers and sisters. You are the one who Saria relied on. You are the Knight of my Kokiri, Mido, and I would trust no other with this job." The words, although not exactly what Mido had wanted to hear, did have a bit of a calming effect. He _was_ the bravest Kokiri – that was certainly true. He _was_ a good protector. Even _Link_ had said so. The Deku Tree Sprout wasn't mad at him for sneaking out to see the Moblins – it had _let_ him do it. The Deku Tree Sprout wouldn't ask this of him if it wasn't necessary.

And, like the Deku Tree Sprout said, if he really was the only Kokiri for the job…

"What…what do you need me to do?" The Deku Tree Sprout rustled his leaves and thought for a moment.

"The world, Mido, is bigger than the Lost Woods. You know that. And sometimes, as removed as we are here, the events of the world hold grave consequences for us too. And sometimes, our friends and protectors in the world need all the help we can give." Mido blinked in surprise.

"But," he said, "what help could we _possibly_ …"

"The Moblins you saw are a new breed," the Deku Tree Sprout explained. "Hyrule has not seen this kind before. They are smaller than the kind we are used to, and faster. They are smarter. And no few of them are capable of black magic."

"Black magic?" Mido repeated. Was that what he had been sensing around the Moblins? But no. Link didn't use Black Magic at all, but he gave off the same feeling sometimes. "What can I do against black magic?"

"Nothing by yourself," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "But Hyrule may be able to do something. But only if they know." And at last, Mido caught on. He blinked.

"You… you want me to warn them," he said breathlessly. "You want me to take them a message?"

"I want you to extend your protection from the Woods to Hyrule, Mido," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "If the forces of Hyrule are not warned of this new threat, there is no telling what havoc they could wreak before they were stopped. And I suspect that Hyrule is in straits far too dire to permit this new threat to exist, unknown to them.

"If I leave the woods," Mido said quietly, "I'll die, won't I? Link didn't because he's not really…well, he's not really a Kokiri. But I am."

"You are," the Deku Tree Sprout answered. "And you might. But not if you are quick. There are many Lost Doors in Hyrule, Mido. You will know them when you are near them. They feel of home. Deliver your message and return as quickly as you can through one of them. There are worse things in the world than Moblins, Mido, and I cannot protect you from them out there. Do not tarry." It occurred to Mido that the Deku Tree Sprout was speaking as though he'd already agreed to go when in fact he had not. It also occurred to Mido that it didn't matter, because he couldn't _not_ go, even if it did mean that he would die.

He screwed up his courage and mimicked a bow he'd seen Link give once or twice to important people. It seemed like the grown-up thing to do, and for some reason, this mission felt like it required a certain amount of grown-up-ness.

The Deku Tree Sprout gave him the rest of his instructions – directions, names and descriptions of people to give the message to, and continued admonitions to hurry and be brave – and then Mido ran back to his house, for once avoiding everyone on the way. He flew into the small building and grabbed his blanket, then began to throw everything he thought he might need into it. When that was done, he got down on his knees and reached under his bed, pulling out a simple, wooden case. On the top of the box was inscribed the symbol of the Kokiri, in the shape of their sacred stone. Link had given this back to Saria, who had in turn given it to Mido. He didn't know if he was excited or terrified that he finally had a reason to use it.

He popped open the box and stared for a moment at the Kokiri's Sword and the Shield of the Kokiri. They weren't as nice as Link's new weapons, maybe, but he didn't care. He was fiercely proud of being a Kokiri and he didn't want any other weapons.

As he pulled the sword from its sheath he felt just the barest hint of that _thing_ that he had sensed around the Moblins. It was quiet, like a sigh, and then it was gone. But Mido, for reasons unbeknownst to him, was uncannily certain that it would not be the last time he felt it, whatever it was.

"This is it," whispered his fairy companion as he slung on the shield and sword. "This is your big chance to be a Hero." He sounded like he was about to cry. Mido reached under his bed again and pulled out something that had been a birthday present from Link. A thought had just occurred to him, and though it, more than anything else, made him want to curl up and cry he wouldn't let himself. He had to be strong now. "You think maybe they'll sing songs about us or something?"

"Maybe," said Mido, being careful to pull the cork from the bottle as casually as he could manage, "but only if you write them for me."

"What? What do you—Mido!" Mido moved around with a quickness born of catching grasshoppers mid-flight only to release them to play the game again, and caught his fluttering fairy in mid-air, then promptly popped the cork into the bottle. "Mido! What are you—"

"Sorry, buddy," Mido said, feeling like crying himself. He set the bottle gently down on the table. "But you'll die too if you go with me, and then who'll remind everyone else how cool I am?"

"Mido!" His fairy gasped. "Don't do this! Let me out of here! We're partners! How am I supposed to protect you if I'm—"

" _I'm_ the Kokiri Knight," Mido interrupted him. "I'm the one who's doing the protecting."

"Mido!"

Mido crouched down and touched his forehead to the glass bottle. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about me, I'll be all right."

"Mido! No!"

"I'll see you soon!" Mido said, getting to his feet and pulling his make-shift pack onto his back. "Miss me if I don't, K?" And he fled the room before his fairy partner could talk him out of it.

He figured he wouldn't be a very good Knight if he got other people hurt because of his mission. He was already lonely without his partner, but it wasn't like he'd never see him again, right? The Deku Tree Sprout had said that if he was quick, he'd be all right. So he'd just be quick.

He pushed himself over the bridge and through the portal and out into the harsh light of a cold winter that Mido had never seen before.

How big could the world be, anyway?


	20. That's What We Got Bombs For

#  **Chapter 20 and a Brief Interlude**

" _He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."  
_ Friedrich Nietzsche

##  **Chapter 20**

"You think we should say something to him?" Hunter asks me quietly, frowning at something behind me.

"Duthie?" I respond, craning my neck to look at where he stands with his back to us, leaning listlessly against a tree not too far in the distance. He got up and left half-way through my recounting of everything that's happened since Hunter got captured; right after I explained that Blind, the Cleric, and the fake Hunter were all the same person. I didn't try to stop him. As much as he didn't trust Blind, he _trusted_ Blind (if that makes any sense), and it was yet another blow he didn't need right now. I turn back to Hunter and take a moment to feel horribly awkward. "I don't know," I say. "I don't think there's anything we _can_ say."

"Hmm," says Hunter again. He shakes his head and lets himself fall back onto the ground, staring up at the slowly-lightening sky through the branches of the trees above us. "Sorry," he says. "This whole thing…it's a lot to take in."

"You're telling me," I snort. "I'm the one who's _been_ through it and I don't even think _I've_ come to terms with it."

"I'd feel better if we had a plan," Hunter notes. "I'm not quite so adept at flying by the seat of my pants as you are."

"We do have a plan," I say. "I told you. Step one, find a portal, get Laruto through it; two, free the rest of the maidens—"

"I _wish_ you'd stop calling them that."

"—and somehow get _them_ home through a portal. And three—"

"Wait, let me guess," Hunter says, "beat the living daylights out of Ganon."

"Well…yeah," I admit.

"That's what I thought," he says, and heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Link, no offence, but your plan sucks."

"What? Why?" I demand, momentarily offended if for no other reason than it's the plan I've been following all along.

"Well for starters," Hunter says, waving a hand at me from his horizontal position, "it's not even a plan. It's like…it's a _list_. It's a bloody 'to-do list.' Like, pick up some milk from Lon Lon, and don't forget to put the cat out. You haven't even considered _how_ to do that, or taken into account potential problems and setbacks. I mean…do you even know how to get _back_ to Laruto?"

"Not…exactly," I admit. "I figured I could work that out once I was ready to go back, you know?"

"Mm-hmm," Hunter says. "And how are you planning to find these portals?"

"Well, I…I found this one, didn't I!"

"Yeah," Hunter says dully, "assuming it even exists, and only because luck, as usual, was on your side. And besides, from what you've told me, since I've been freed, the seals will have snapped shut over it again, and it won't work, will it?"

"Well…no."

"And how were you planning on figuring out where the other maidens are?"

"I don't think you understand just exactly how _desperate_ I was for _any_ kind of plan when I made that up. I chose not to consider the details because if I had, I think I might have actually killed myself."

"You blow my mind sometimes, you know that?"

"You may've mentioned it."

"Good," he says. "Wouldn't want you to forget."

"Farore, Hunter, I'm glad to have you back." I say, forgoing my usual comeback in favour of the simple truth. I hadn't even realized how badly I had been hoping that the fake Hunter really was Hunter until I found out for sure he wasn't. I don't think I've ever felt so defeated.

But magic mirrors – at least _my_ magic mirror – don't lie, and when he looked in Sahasrahla's mirror it was his own reflection that looked back at him. I just about fainted with relief.

Hunter glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

"You're not going to cry or something are you?" He asks, rescuing us both from any impending sap. "'Cause that would be kind of embarrassing. I mean… _more_ embarrassing than the whole…pink rabbit thing."

"Says the Maiden," I note wryly.

"You know, I could have sworn I told you to stop calling me that."

"You know, I could have sworn I didn't care."

"Bastard."

"Maiden."

Another long-suffering sigh. I offer him a tired grin.

"You didn't _honestly_ expect me to let that go, did you?" I demand.

"Not really," he admits in a disgruntled tone.

" _Especially_ given _several_ things you've told me regarding the relationship between yourself and a certain red-headed ranch hand." I smirk. "Given that you're _both_ here, I'm afraid I must assume that you have been bullshitting me." I expect him to colour and avoid my gaze, but instead he rolls over and offers me his own smirk.

"Well," he says, "I'm not the only one with stories, now am I? And given that all _two_ of the girlfriends you've _ever_ had in the entirety of your life are here as well, I'm tempted to think that perhaps _I_ was not the only one bullshitting." I glare at him, thwarted.

"I…you…shut up," I snap in response, then drape my hands over my knees in what is decidedly a sulk. "Man. You could have at least given me a _little_ more mileage off that whole Maiden thing before you snatched it out from under me."

"I would have been willing if you hadn't been so annoying with it," he points out. "It's your own fault. Besides," he adds, "why are we wasting leverage like that on each other when there's a certain red-headed _Gerudo_ out there somewhere in a _dress_. I mean, seriously, a pink bunny and the title of 'Maiden' can hardly compare to that – _especially_ if we coordinate our attacks."

"Assuming we can rescue her," I point out before I can stop myself. It's the Dark World talking, but I suppose the point is a valid one. Hunter, however, gestures dismissively.

"Bah," he says. "Just because _you_ wouldn't know a plan from a to-do list if they walked up and bit you in the ass doesn't mean _I_ don't."

"You have a plan?" I ask, almost eagerly.

"Not yet," he says with a wide grin. "But I will." A shadow falls over him and we both look up as Duthie comes to a stop beside us.

"I think the fighting's stopped," he says softly. "We should go find the others."

*******

The streets of the little Dark World Kakariko are littered with bodies of all shapes and sizes – no few of them Moblin. Duthie shakes his head as we gingerly work our way through the town.

"This isn't good," he says grimly. "They'll have reinforcements in here by nightfall, and then we're really screwed." He looks like he's about to continue, but instead he stops short and blinks. Ahead of us is a row of what passes for houses around here, completely unremarkable except for the rather impressive – if hastily assembled – barriers erected all around them.

"I think we found them," Hunter notes, then adds under his breath: "Whoever 'they' are."

"Take one more step and you'll be eatin' fire," shrieks an all-too-familiar voice. "We've got more'n enough lef' ta take care of you!"

"Wandi," Duthie barks. "Cut it out. It's just me." A narrow-eyed face appears in the window, and blinks in surprise before the expression dissolves into a scowl.

"Feh," she says derisively. "An' where the Hell have you been, ezactly? While we was fightin' off the Moblins and being all holed up in here, doin' all the work?"

"Oh shut up, Wandi," snapped another, muffled voice from inside the house. "You haven't done any work since the killin' stopped. Just let the poor bastard in."

"Feh," Wandi said again. "Well…who's that wit' you?" She squints against the light behind us. "Aw for Din's sake, _tell me_ that ain't that _kid_! What the Hell, Duthie! He better be in chains like Blind ordered!"

"Blind's _dead_ , Wandi," Duthie snaps harshly. "He's _dead_ , the kid's _not_ in chains, and I'm coming in." He strides impatiently forward and Hunter and I exchange an uncertain glance before following after him. Contrary to Wandi's previous blustering, we do not, in fact, 'eat fire.' Instead, the door of the little house rips open and Wandi glares out, one hand on her hip.

"Whadda you _mean_ , Blind's dead?" She demands. "There ain't nothin' that could kill Blind."

"It was God!" someone behind Wandi cries. A light, hollow, blunt sound follows the proclamation, and someone whimpers pitifully.

"Your God is dead too," Blind snaps, pushing past Wandi. "And the Cleric." There's a gasp from about half the people in the room. I raise an eyebrow. Looks like it's not just Blind's Thieves in here. There are definitely some of the Cleric's followers too.

"Uh, Duthie?" Hunter says. "Maybe you want to just be a _touch_ more deli—"

"Hey!" Wandi snarls as Hunter tries to walk by her. She reaches out and grabs the font of his uniform, wrenching him around to face her. "Yer one of them _Children_!"

"Let him go, Wandi," Duthie says. "He's not."

"He is!" Wandi insists. "I seen him!"

"He's _not_ ," I insist. "Put him down." She makes no move to do it.

"Look," Hunter says coolly, backing his tone up with an unimpressed expression. "I'm really, _really_ tired of people accusing me of being someone I'm not." He casts a deliberate look around at the battered group huddled in the house, then turns that look back on Wandi. "And no offence, but regardless of who you think I am, you don't look so well off that you can afford to lose a few extra pairs of hands – regardless of who they may or may not belong to." Wandi snorts, still glaring at Hunter, and I scowl at her.

"Unless you want it to be _your_ hands, Wandi, put him down _now._ " Her long, rodent nose twitches for a moment, but finally she shoves him unceremoniously away from her.

"Feh," she says. "Who died an' made _you_ King?" I raise an eyebrow at her and open my mouth, but Hunter cuts me off.

"So…we're all kind of out of the loop right now," he says, throwing me a narrow-eyed glare before I can reveal something I probably shouldn't – not that anyone in here would believe me anyway. "Why doesn't somebody fill us in."

"Not you, Wandi," Duthie says wearily when she opens her mouth. "Ferran, you please."

"All right," says a guy I didn't even notice until he spoke. I jump and turn to look at him. He's old and warped, but most startling is the fact that he's partly transparent. "But first, is Blind really dead?" All the eyes in the room are on Duthie for a moment, until finally he nods.

"Yeah, Ferran. Yeah, he's really dead. And we're all fools, but your story first." Ferran chews that over for a minute, then leans back and shrugs.

"Not much to tell," he said. "We were waiting for the signal up on the hill, like always. It came and we started the raid. You should have been there! The cowards ran like children—"

"We did n—" There's the same light, hollow, blunt sound I heard before we came in and something round and pink flies over my head, wailing as it bounces off the wall and falls to roll along the floor again, coming to a stop at my feet. It's a little pink ball, but horrifically enough with eyes and a mouth. I raise an impassive eyebrow down at it – I don't think I'm capable of the emotions associated with surprise anymore – but Hunter – even with his Sheikah training, and forewarning about how the Dark World affects people – gives a start. The little ball whimpers.

"Stop _doing_ that!" It moans.

"Stop _whining_ ," growls something from the back of the small crowd that sounds a lot bigger than the little ball.

"I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head incredulously, "I've seen a lot of stuff since I got stuck here…but I have to ask. Why a ball?" The little ball peers up at me morosely.

"Well," he says, "I think it's because I'm very indecisive. I can't ever make up my mind. I'm always, you know, bouncing around from one option to another, so…you know, I don't really want to talk about it."

"This is too surreal for me," Hunter says and turns around to walk over to Duthie and away from the little ball.

"Could you just…could you just pass me back to one of…to someone who _isn't_ a thief?" The little spherical thing asks. "Underhand, please. I don't want to bounce."

"And I thought I had it rough," I mutter, doing as he asks.

"Continue, Ferran," Duthie says, looking more than a little irritated at the delay.

" _As I was saying_ ," Ferran says, glowering at the little ball, "the raid was going as well as it always does, except that Blind never came to join us. Then, a little ways into it, the Children we're fighting – they turn into Moblins!"

"Feh," says Wandi. "You know what I think?"

"Nobody _cares_ what you think, Wandi," groans another thief from the back.

"She's going to tell us anyway I bet," mutters another one.

"I think they was _always_ Moblins."

"She's right," Duthie cuts in before the group can start arguing again. "Ferran, for Din's sake, just finish the story." Ferran directs a frown his way, then continues.

"Well, that's pretty much it," admits. "They turned into Moblins and the fight became one huge ruckus. Some of the Cleric's followers smartened up when they realized they'd been following Moblins and joined our side of the fight. Some of them just stood there and died. Some of them are completely useless but the others wouldn't let us ditch 'em so we took 'em with us. We managed to push them back to the Woods, but they'll be back, and with reinforcements to boot. They were just the little Moblins, but I'd bet my life they'll bring the big mothers with them when they come back. We've fortified our position here as best we can and now we're just waiting for them." He shakes his head. "We were, uh, we were kind of hoping Blind would show up, but I guess that's out of the question now." Duthie shakes his head grimly.

"Ferran, you have no idea," he says.

*******

By the time Duthie finishes explaining just how badly the proverbial wool has been pulled over the eyes of this town and its accompanying subterranean caverns (with occasional corrections from me, and muttered admonitions to the both of us to calm-down-before-we-incite-a-riot from Hunter), the eyes in the room are either as wide as dinner plates or nothing more than slits. Wandi's, naturally, are of the latter.

"Are you _drunk_!" She demands shrilly. "You expect us to _believe_ that crock?"

"Do I _look_ like I'm drunk, Wandi?" Duthie demands angrily. "Have you ever seen me _drink_? Is there anything in my posture, or demeanour, or _personal history_ to suggest that I would be intoxicated?" She frowns at him; likely trying to figure out precisely what he means by "intoxicated".

"Feh," she says.

"I'm not making this up," he growls, his voice ragged and dangerous. "Why would I make this up?"

"The Cleric _can't_ have been Blind," notes one of the Cleric's followers in a very small voice that suggests quite the opposite.

"He was," Duthie snaps. "The Cleric was Blind, Blind was the Cleric, the Children were Moblins, and we were all _fools_. He's been playing the two factions off one another to keep us in line and under control. He used those of you desperate for some kind of hope to galvanize the rest of us into rebellion, and used those of us who refused to convert to frighten you into worshipping even harder, and so the cycle continued until now."

"But…why?" Ferran asks, shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense. Why would he—"

"Ganon," I say, cutting him off with a dark shake of my head. "It all comes back to Ganon. Ganon controls all but one of the Sentinels – you were worshipping one as your God. Ganon's tasked the Sentinels with maintaining order in the Dark World so he can focus on Hyrule. So the Sentinel used Blind and his ability as a Doppelganger to do just that. He threw in a couple of magic-using Moblins to complete the illusion of a priest hood and that was that."

"But…what about the raids?"

"And the Redemptions?"

"For show," Hunter says with a shrug. "The 'Cleric' always knew when a raid would happen because he was planning them. So whether they succeeded, whether they failed, it was all an elaborate act designed to keep hopes and satisfaction on both sides high enough to keep you under control, but low enough that you never started wanting more. They were to keep you in place."

"As for the _redemptions_ ," Duthie says, acid in his voice, "they were a hoax from the start. Can any of you think of a single time you ever saw the Cleric and the Redeemed on the stage at the same time? Of course not. Because the Cleric was the Redeemed as well. He'd just shift his shape. Have you never noticed that those who are successfully redeemed are always those who no longer have anyone in the immediate vicinity who knew them before the Dark World? That way there'd never be a reason to doubt that the redemptions were real."

"They were just another tool," I inform them. "Like the raids. Just a means of controlling you through your own emotions." Somewhere to my left someone buried in the crowd says a name I don't recognize and starts to cry. "Sorry," I say awkwardly.

"Why should we believe you?" Demands Ferran an insolent expression on his face that I've come to associate with Blind's thieves.

"Well where are they!" Duthie demands in return, his too-thin patience worn out entirely by their continued disbelief. His voice goes up a several decibels. "Where is Blind? When has he ever left us to hang like this! Where is the Cleric? Why isn't he tending his flock! Why are the Children all Moblins? Why is it you never see the Redeemed again? Why is it that we've been here, living in this wretched _hole_ for the last twenty years, and nothing has ever, _ever_ gotten better!" He tenses his hands and his claws tremble to their tips. "The only valid question here is how did we fall for it? Why didn't we see this sooner?"

"Duthie—"

"My brother's _dead_ because of that liar! We both believed in him and Kilgan paid for it with his blood! And I'll pay for it for the rest of my _miserable life_ , however long that may be. So believe me if you want, or don't if you're stupid, but don't you _dare_ accuse me of making this up." A startled silence falls on the room for a moment. At last Wandi snorts.

"So," she says, in the first neutral tone I've ever heard her use, "yer sayin' we're on our own." Duthie deflates.

"Yes, Wandi," he says wearily. "That's exactly what I'm saying." A low murmur ripples through the crowd as they contemplate that and you can almost _feel_ them giving up hope.

"Well," says Ferran, slouching even further, "I guess that's it then. We're done for." I raise an eyebrow.

"What?" I demand. "Done for? How does that make any sense?" Ferran gives me a look like I'm an idiot.

"Well I don't see any other way for this to end, what with us having no leaders to speak of and an army of Moblins barrelling down the road towards us."

"You're not even going to _try_?" Hunter demands. "You're just going to sit here and give up?"

"Farore," I mutter. "If we gave up every time there was an army of Moblins barrelling down the road to kill us, this place would look like Heaven compared to Hyrule."

"Well this ain't Hyrule, kiddies," Wandi sneers. "There ain't no happy endings here." I turn to look at Duthie, but am surprised to see the same defeated look on his face.

"They're right, Link," he says. "We can't defend this town. We don't stand a chance against the Moblins." I glare at him.

"What the Hell!" I say. "That's just the Dark World talking! You can't just—" Hunter cuts me off with a hand on my shoulder. I turn to look at him and he shakes his head and gestures back behind him. I turn around to excuse myself, but Duthie's already turned back around and is busy looking miserable, and Wandi and Ferran are heatedly discussing whether it's worth the effort to make a last stand just to be irritating. I shrug and turn back around to Hunter.

We take a couple of steps back so that we're just out of earshot of most of the people in the room and Hunter says in a low voice:

"Link, look around you," he says. "You aren't going to be able to convince these people to live through sheer force of personality. Not when they've already decided to die." He shakes his head. "Farore, these people have been dying for a long time already."

"But—"

"And they're right about the town. It's indefensible. They don't have enough people, or nearly enough resources. This house is the best they've got and it'll take the Moblins, what? Like…two seconds to get in here and brutalize them?" I cross my arms in a huff and glare malignantly at him.

"But—"

"And we can't stay to help them, even if they _did_ decide to try fighting. Not with you changing like you do every night, and not with the others still captured and Hyrule still in danger. Our first responsibility is that, Link. Not these guys."

"But we can't just let them give up like this!" I explode finally, then cast a paranoid glance back over my shoulder to see if I attracted anyone's attention. Luckily for me, they're all busy staring at Wandi and Ferran, whose argument is growing heated as it ventures away from 'what's the point in making a stand' to 'yeah, well you're ugly.' I turn back to Hunter. "We can't just…they're not even going to _try_ , Hunter." Hunter pulls back for a moment and gives me a narrow-eyed, piercing look.

"From what you've told me," he says slowly, "you've been having a hard enough time lately working up the will to try. And you've only been here a week. These people have been here for decades, Link. _Decades._ Whatever spirit they had, it's been crushed." But an idea is slowly forming in my brain.

"Well," I say slowly, "then we can't appeal to their spirit. But maybe…we can appeal to something else."

"Like what?" Hunter asks. Behind us Wandi and Ferran have gotten spontaneously personal in their argument and out of nowhere Wandi runs over and shoves Ferran roughly off his seat, sending him crashing into the floor. He responds by jumping to his feet and throwing himself at Wandi, dodging the hands trying to stop him. I let myself grin, just a little bit.

"Their Beasts."

*******

"…it's classic hit and run tactics, but in this case, with a level of viciousness that you don't normally see. You're going to have to hit them fast and hard and be gone before they know what's happened. You _can not_ afford losses. Not when they have hundreds to throw away."

"Feh. How do we know it'll even work?" Wandi demands with a frown, her rodent nose twitching in interest nonetheless.

"Because it's been done before," I answer her simply. "And by a bunch of kids no less."

"It's your best shot," Hunter says, pulling everyone's attention back to him. "Ferran's right, you can't defend this town. But down in the Caverns you might actually stand a chance. A lot of those tunnels are too narrow for them to swarm you, and even if they _do_ know the caverns layout, you can rearrange that with a few well-placed explosions." I nod.

"You can booby-trap the Hell out of whatever passages you won't need, trap the Moblins down underground, barricade yourselves in with supplies if that's what it comes down to."

"Hell, even _if_ the Moblins manage to trap you guys down there, if you're properly supplied you could still hold out a month, maybe even _two_. And if they _don't_ manage to trap you down there, all the better. You can send up foraging teams and keep yourselves supplied for as long as it takes the Moblins to get in to you. There's about three hundred defensible positions down there, and every time they force you to give one up, you can just retreat to the next."

"What's to stop Ganon from just sending more troops?" Ferran demands. I offer him a feral grin.

"Me," I say. "That's part of the reason Hunter and I won't stay behind with you. Trust me, he's more concerned about his attack on Hyrule than he will be about a couple of rogues running around underground. And he'll be reserving the bulk of his force for Hyrule, if he hasn't already started sending them in. He won't want to waste them on you."

"Meanwhile, Link and I will be running around disrupting his plans in our own way."

"How?" Wandi demands.

"I think," Hunter replies carefully, "that you've got your hands full with your own problems. Trust me when I say you don't need to be worrying about ours." They consider this for a moment, and then apparently decide to agree with us (or else that they really don't care about whatever problems we might have). I open my mouth to say something, but Duthie interrupts me.

"Why?" He asks.

"What?" Hunter and I both say at the same time, turning to face him. He stares impassively back.

"Why?" He repeats. "What's the point? What are we getting out of this?"

"You mean besides your lives?" I say before Hunter can stop me, frowning at Duthie. Duthie shakes his head.

"And what good are those?" He asks softly. "Here? In this place? Great. So we get to continue living in Hell. I'm still not seeing an upside."

"Would you prefer to _die_ forever in Hell?" Hunter counters, raising an eyebrow. "Or have you already forgotten everything you told me about ghosts? My mother died of a sickness. It certainly wasn't a pleasant way to go, but I think it rates higher than dying on the end of a Moblin blade. And if you do that, you'll be doing it for the rest of your afterlife." It's his turn to shake his head. "If you ask me, I think it's preferable to live for a bit longer, than die forever."

"Brat's got a point, Duthie," Ferran notes.

"Besides," I add, perhaps unhelpfully, "who doesn't like killing Moblins? Why the Hell would you give them the satisfaction of an easy kill?" But Duthie just shakes his head and retreats back into himself. I glare at him and open my mouth but yet again I'm cut off as Hunter gets to his feet.

"Duthie, can I talk to you in private for a minute?" He says. Duthie looks up at him, and raises an eyebrow, but gets to his feet nonetheless and follows him as Hunter leads him towards the back of the room. I stare after them for a moment, wondering what Hunter's up to.

"Well I'm in," Wandi says, abruptly forcing everyone's attention back to her as she leans back in her chair. Ferran gives her a withering look.

"Wandi you've been 'in' since they said, 'you'll get to kill Moblins.' Everybody _knows_ where you stand."

"Least I'm standin' somewhere," she snaps back, glowering at him. "Not wailin' and quailin' like some little girl."

"Who's wailing!" Ferran demands angrily. " _Farore_ you're offensive." Wandi snorts.

"Feh."

"Where _do_ you stand?" I ask, giving him an intent look. He leans back in his chair and scratches his see-through chin.

"Well," he says, "I've been an asshole for way too long to change now. I don't see why we wouldn't take on the Moblins for as long as we can. It's not like things can get any worse than they are now, and I don't much like the idea of going without a fight."

"You could always run," Wandi suggests nastily. He scowls at her.

"Are you kidding me?" He demands. "Run where? Over with those Gerudo mutts? You know as well as I do this is the best place to be in the Dark World – though I use the term 'best' here in a relative fashion," he adds for my benefit. I resist the urge to throw a negligent glance around.

"I, uh, I figured," I tell him. "What was that about Gerudo mutts?"

"Never been west, eh?" Ferran notes darkly. "If you follow the road in that direction for a day or two, you'll eventually hit Misery Mire, but nobody with any brains ever goes there."

"Well, with a name like Misery Mire…," but Ferran waves me off.

"It's not the name," he says. "There's plenty of places here in the Dark World with names like that. The problem with that place is it's the territory of a pack of Gerudo, and they don't take kindly to any interlopers."

"'S true," Wandi says. "Sometimes they come up from their stinkin' swamp lookin' for food or prisoners or mebbe just to raise some Hell. I seen one of 'em tear a guy in half, once." She grins. "Never seen the likes of it ever again." I blink.

"Well…are they going to be a problem?" I ask. "I mean…this plan doesn't really account for a third faction ripping in here and tearing people in half." Ferran raises an eyebrow.

"Your plans usually do?" He asks.

"Some of them," I respond defensively. He shakes his head.

"Whatever," he says. "Anyway, it should be a problem. They never come underground. Don't like the caves or some such. We've never had a problem with 'em, it's just the Cleric's people."

"'Sides," Wandi adds, "they ain't no _third_ faction. They's _Ganon's_ faction."

"But I—" I cut myself off before I can finish that. If they're _here_ that means they're not _my_ Gerudo. They are, in fact, _quite_ before my time. Which means they are, in fact, _quite_ Ganon's Gerudo. Something unhappy sinks in my gut.

And they're probably Elite.

"Right," I continue before Ferran and Wandi can do anything more about my sudden lag than give me weird looks. "So, no west." I pause. "Unless…do you…is there a Sentinel over there?" Ferran blinks at me and Wandi frowns.

"Why?" She demands. "What the Hell would you want wit' one of them?" Ferran nods.

"They're worse than the Gerudo, Link," he advises. "Stay away from them. Mortal men aren't meant to mess with immortals. Look what happened to Blind." I sigh and shake my head.

"I might not have much of a choice," I say. "The Sentinels are between me and ruining Ganon's plan." Ferran leans back and scratches his chin.

"Well," he says, "there might be one down there. There's six or seven of 'em, anyway, I can't remember the exact number, and they've got the Dark World divided up in chunks. Going by sheer size, I'd say there's a fair bet there's a Sentinel somewhere down in Misery Mire."

"Hmm," I say. "Great. Sentinels and crazy Gerudo. Fantastic." I roll my eyes. "Urgh, whatever. That's my problem, not yours. So…how are we going to convince the Cleric's ex-followers to go along with this plan?"

"Feh," says Wandi, "like they have a choice."

"They've got the Skull Wood or the Dark Palace to one side, Turtle Rock above us, and Ganon's fortress of to the other side," Ferran says. "They can't run, and if they don't fight, they'll die." He sneers. "And they're not brave enough to die."

"I suppose," I say doubtfully, "but that's not much of a guarantee. There's got to be something else we can give them. Some extra incentive so we're sure they don't turn on you…."

"Leave that to me," says a voice from behind me. We all turn to look as Duthie and Hunter come back to the table. The misery in Duthie's face is inexplicably gone, replaced with a burning purpose. Behind him, Hunter looks almost…satisfied. Duthie meets my questioning gaze with a flat expression.

"I'm in."

*******

Hunter's putting the final touches on a rough battle plan by the time the sun is low enough in the sky to start making me edgy. The thieves have managed to put together a rough map of Blind's caverns and have been running around "rearranging" passages and stockpiling their weapons and supplies. The Cleric's followers – led, ironically enough, by Duthie – are just starting to straggle back in, loaded down with food and other supplies scavenged from the town, and the fringes of Skull Woods. Since his talk with Hunter, Duthie seems to have decided to take charge of the Cleric's ex-followers, and none of them seem to question it. They need a leader, I suppose, and Duthie's willing to do that much.

I can't say I entirely understand where it's come from, but I've no doubt it has everything to do with Kilgan.

I turn my gaze back up to the sun, muffled and hazed through the thick, overhanging clouds.

I need to go.

I push myself back up to my feet and brush myself off.

"Hunter," I call as I jog up to him.

"…I just think that if we block off this one, we run the risk of getting hemmed in," Ferran is saying.

"Idiot," Wandi snaps with a sneer. "That's what we got _bombs_ for, ain't you been listenin'?" Hunter grins at him.

"I hate to say it, but she's right," he says. "If you get hemmed in there, the wall here—" he points at a section on the map "—is more than thin enough that you can take it out easily, which will open up onto this area. Then you can run back this way."

"Hunter," I repeat.

"Just a sec, Link," he says, then looks at Wandi. "But be careful with the explosives," he tells her. "You'll need to use them sparingly, or you risk compromising the stability of the caverns as a whole if you take out an important support or something."

"Feh," says Wandi, and waves him off in a manner that is not particularly encouraging. He frowns and opens his mouth to fight with her some more, but I grab his shoulder and shake it to get his attention.

"Hunter!" I say. He blinks and turns to me.

"What?" I jerk my thumb over my shoulder to point at the sun.

"I need to go."

"Oh!" He says. "Damn. All right." He turns back to Ferran. "You're in charge of the Thieves—"

"What!" Wandi shrieks. "Why _him_?" Ferran shoots her a smug grin.

"'Cause I'm not about to cave the whole place in on top of us," he says.

"Exactly," Hunter says. "Duthie will take the others. I've already spoken with him. Now, I know you guys aren't really into teamwork, but there's some measure of it going to be required here if you're _really_ going to make the Moblins wish they'd never come after you."

"We may not be much of a team," Ferran says, "but if Blind taught us anything it was coordination. Don't worry about that."

"The Dark World will take care of the rest," Wandi says with a wicked grin, pointed teeth gleaming in her mouth. "Carnage we can do."

"Right," says Hunter thinly. "Well…good, I guess. You guys are on your own from here on out."

"Wait, what?" I say. Hunter blinks.

"Well…the sun," he says. "We need to go." I frown.

"No, _I_ need to go," I say. "You can't come." He frowns right back and turns around to face me fully.

"What?" He said. "The plan was we both go."

"You never said that."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't," I say. "And besides, you can't."

"Why not?" I stare incredulously at him.

"Um…'cause I'll eat you?" I respond. He raises an eyebrow.

"Not if I turn you into a rabbit first," he responds. "Trust me, you'll be too busy screaming at a painful pitch to eat anyone."

"But we don't even know how that happened," I say with a dark frown. "There's no guarantee—"

"We have a pretty good idea of how it happened," Hunter corrects me. "You're a lycanthrope, but your form isn't steady. It's based off your emotions, right?"

"I—that's what Anduriel said, yes."

"So, whatever it is you saw in the mirror scared you so bad you turned into a rabbit. Just make sure you're looking in the mirror when you change. Maybe it'll happen again."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then think about the Witches, Link," he responds, his tone losing a bit of its light heartedness and taking on a serious tint. "Think about what's going to happen to Hyrule if we can't free the others. Think about the monsters under you bed. Think about whatever it takes to scare the daylights out of you. Think about whatever it takes to _not_ be angry."

"It's not that easy," I say softly. "A lot of that stuff _makes_ me angry."

"I know, Link," Hunter replies. "But we can't find the others if every night you change and run off. As it currently stands you have no idea where you actually left Laruto because of the fact you changed into the Beast and ran in some unknown direction. And I can't save them alone. It's going to take both of us."

"I know that," I say with a frown. "But you don't understand. If this _doesn't_ work, you won't get the chance to run. You've seen what the Beast is like. You saw what it did to—you know." I throw a wary glance up at Ferran and Wandi who are watching our exchange with rapt interest. We neglected to mention exactly _how_ it was that Blind wound up dead since we weren't sure how they'd react, and I'm still not sure it's a good idea for that particular detail to come to light.

"And that's why we're going to lock you up in a stone room," Hunter responds. "You were busy with Duthie, but I asked Ferran to find a solid room you won't likely be able to break out of if it goes wrong. If we can't turn you into the rabbit, then I'll stay for tonight and when you change back, you and I can try to make a break for it tomorrow night."

"What if I get out?" I demand. Hunter raises an eyebrow.

"The room is far enough away from where we'll be, no worries there. And by the time you manage to get out, the Moblins will have arrived. And there'll be more than enough of them to keep you busy 'till sunrise." I frown at him.

"I don't like this plan," I say.

"At least," Hunter notes, "it's actually a plan." He glances over my shoulder. "And you're out of time to fight with me." I open my mouth to say something, but it drops open a moment later when I realize I've been had.

"You bastard!" I cry. "You didn't tell me about this on purpose! You wanted to make sure I had no choice!" He offers me a smug grin.

"Like I said," he says, "maybe I can't fly by the seat of my pants like you, but give me enough time to think my way through it and I can usually find a way." He claps me on the shoulder. "Now come on. Time to head for the room to give you and the mirror some quality alone time. Also, we're going to put a net over you before the change." He shakes his head. "I'm not chasing you all over the place again." I fall into a disgruntled silence, but I let him lead me towards the room. He's right. I don't have time to fight with him anymore.

"If you change into the rabbit," Hunter says as we move back, "I'm putting you in a sac, slinging you on my back, and we're heading out before the Moblins arrive. We're going to have to set up some kind of system for resting, because unlike you, I'm going to need to sleep every now and then, but for tonight, we'll be fine. The only question is, which direction do I head? Do you remember _anything_ about where you left Laruto?" I shrug.

"I already told you, no," I say irately. "Nothing about the direction. I know there was a freaky orchard with tress that used to be people, and a weird palace or something. And a giant freaking Maeasm, but other than that, no."

"That's the Dark Palace," Wandi says. I roll my eyes.

"Are you still here?" I demand, giving her a disparaging look. She smirks at me.

"I want to see this Beast of yours that's got you all worked up," she says. "Feh. If you ask me, you got off easy. Bitchin' and moanin' while the rest of us gots to stay all deformed _all_ the time instead of just half the time." I glare at her.

"Well we'll see how _easy_ it is when I'm ripping your throat out with teeth that put Duthie's claws to shame," I snap.

"Relax, Link," Hunter says. "You're supposed to be trying to scare yourself, remember?" I sigh and turn my attention away from Wandi.

"'S not my fault the Dark World is full of irritants," I mutter.

Hunter finally comes to a stop in front of a thick stone door that he pulls open only with an effort.

"After you," he says, offering me a florid bow.

"If anything goes wrong…" I say.

"It won't."

"But if it does…"

"Relax, Link," he says. "I won't let you hurt anyone." I hold his gaze for a moment, trying to decide whether that's a promise he can actually keep or not. In the end, though, it doesn't matter. It's the only plan we've got, and it's too late to do anything about it. I turn without another word and proceed into the room.

Farore, I hope this works…

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"So…how do I get to the Dark Palace?" Hunter asked as he and Ferran hefted the heavy wooden bar into place over the door. "Is it far?"

"Not very, no," Ferran answered. "Maybe a day from here, if you've only got two legs. It's East as the keese flies, but you'll actually have to head south east and follow along the edge of the mountain lines to get at it."

"Are there any paths over the mountains?" He tested the bar with his weight to be sure it was sturdy and would hold. Wandi snorted.

"You'd best get one thing straight, boy," she said derisively. "There ain't no 'paths' around here, 'cept those built for no good purpose."

"And the mountain's no good for travelling," Ferran added. "There's rockslides, carnivores, and a never-ending storm at the peak. Nobody travels the mountains. Go southeast. And Wandi's right," he said, "avoid the paths. They're either traps, or else they're used by the Moblins. Either way you're best to take your chances with whatever comes your way off road."

"Right," Hunter said. "Southeast it is, then."

"So how long we have to wait, anyway?" Wandi demanded, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the door.

"Until sunset," Hunter answered, and dropped into a seated position on the ground. It was at least another twenty minutes until sun down, so he figured he might as well get comfortable. Ferran followed suit and Wandi leaned up against the wall with an irritated, "Feh."

Her head was nodding suspiciously towards her chest by the time Link started screaming. She jerked awake and Ferran and Hunter both straightened. Wandi's lips split into a feral grin over jagged teeth.

"Sounds like somethin's tearin' him apart in there, eh?" She said. Hunter took a moment to decide, quite completely, that he didn't like the shrew woman one bit, before turning his attention back to Link. He strained his ears, listening intently.

"No howling," he prayed under his breath. "No howling, no howling, no howling."

A few moments later the screaming subsided. It didn't meld seamlessly into a howl. It didn't continue on as a howl. It just subsided. Hunter held his breath and listened for a moment more.

"Did it work?" Ferran whispered. Hunter frowned.

"I don't…know," he said. "He's not howling, so it must have, right?"

"What if…what if it's trying to trick us?" Ferran asked. Hunter's frown deepened. He hadn't thought of that.

"I don't think it can…"

"Well whatever it is, it's squeakin'," Wandi informed them, rodent ears twitching furiously as she listened. "I don't think it's a wolf." She actually sounded disappointed. Hunter spared her an unimpressed glance then got to his feet.

"Only one way to find out," he said. "Help me get the bar off, but stand ready with it, just in case…." This was not, he had to admit to himself, his best plan ever. "You're going to have to help this time, Wandi."

"Feh," she said, but got into position with Ferran and helped him lift the bar and move it out of the way.

"Here goes nothing," Hunter muttered and pulled at the door, opening it just a crack. He leaned forward and put his eye to the crack to peer in. "Link?" He couldn't see anything but the end of the net Link had tied around himself. "Link?" Something squeaked at him. Relief blossomed in his chest and he pulled the door wider so he could get a better look.

Huddled in a tangled mass of net in the farthest corner from the door was a tiny, pink rabbit with painfully blue eyes.

Hunter let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "All right, guys," he said. "You can put the bar down. It worked." He pulled the door open the rest of the way and moved into the room, ignoring the rabbit's frightened protests at his incoming proximity. He leaned down and scooped up the magic mirror as he went, before approaching the net. Ferran and Wandi walked into the room behind him. Ferran grinned a little bit as he looked down at the petrified rabbit.

"Wow," he said. "That's gotta be embarrassing." Hunter's mouth twisted into a grin.

"Yep," he said.

"Boring," Wandi pronounced, then turned around with a huff. "Shouldn't we be doin' somethin' about our plans?" She demanded as she exited the room.

"She's right," Hunter said, dropping into a crouch with his pre-prepared sac. "You guys don't have much time left until the Moblins arrive. You'd better get out and finish giving whatever instructions you need to give."

"All right," Ferran said. "Just make sure you keep up your end of the bargain. We can't do much if Ganon decides to do something about us." Hunter grinned at him as he finally managed to extricate the rabbit from the net and shove it – kicking and screaming – into the sac.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Link here's kind of an expert at attracting Ganon's attention. We'll keep him nice and occupied for you." He pulled the sac tightly closed, then pulled the struggling package onto his back. He turned to look at Ferran. "There, uh … there is something you can do for us in exchange though." Ferran raised an eyebrow.

"I knew it," he said. "Nothing comes free."

"Just be ready," Hunter said, "that's all. We don't know everything yet, about what's going on and about how our own mission's going to end. I'd be happy knowing that we've still got you lot to count on if we need some heavy-duty backup at some point."

"Hmm," said Ferran, "well, we're all a bunch of dirty double-crossers so it wouldn't do you much good if I committed one way or another, but I'll say this much: with the right motivation, we'll take on just about anything, and there's more than a few of us wouldn't mind sinking our teeth into Ganon's throat."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hunter said. "Good luck. You're going to need it."

"Heh," Ferran said with a grim smile. "We'll be just fine. It's you two that are going to need luck. Remember, stick to the southeast until you're past the mountains."

"Can do," Hunter said, and turned to go, but Ferran caught his shoulder.

"Wait," he said, "before you go…" Hunter turned around to face him. "What did you say to Duthie?" He asked. "To get him to help out?" Hunter offered the transparent man a quirk of an eyebrow.

"I didn't say anything," he said. "I just promised him something."

"Promised him what?" Ferran pressed.

"Vengeance," Hunter replied. "And maybe, at the end of it, absolution."

"Absolution? For what?"

"Anyway, I have to get going," Hunter said without answering Ferran's question. "If I don't leave now I'm going to run straight into the Moblins and that's not going to go well. In case we don't see each other again, good luck. Tell Wandi—Scratch that. Forget Wandi. See you around."

"What? No message for Duthie?"

"We said our goodbyes before he headed out to scavenge," Hunter replied. "Just tell him we said goodbye."

"All right," Ferran said. "Again, good luck. You're going to need it."

"We usually do," Hunter said, then waved a hand in farewell and turned to head out of the room, and then the caverns. Ferran turned the other way and followed after Wandi, who was no doubt already trying to usurp authority over the group. Hunter wasn't sure if they could handle the plan – he hadn't had nearly enough time to get a feel for the dynamics of the group – but it was up to them now. Either they would, or they wouldn't, but they were no long his priority.

_We're going to have to pick up Laruto first_ , he thought to himself as he stepped out into the hazy twilight. _I don't want to drag her around – Acqul's going to kill us if he finds out how much danger we put her in – but we need to get her through a portal and back into Hyrule, and we can't do that if we rescue the Maidens who are keeping the portals open, thereby closing the portals, and I_ know _we won't be able to walk away from rescuing one of them, so there's nothing for it._ He frowned unhappily. _We don't know enough about this place. I don't even know what we're getting her into and we don't have the time to find out._

"Maybe we can bribe her into not telling her parents anything," he mused out loud.

"Squeak," responded the rabbit from the confines of its bag.

"Shut up," Hunter responded

He forced his mind away from that particular predicament, and it drifted back to Ferran's questions and what he'd told Duthie. For all their differences there was a lot in common between himself and Duthie. They both wanted the same things: vengeance and absolution. If he accomplished nothing else before this wretched world claimed him, Hunter intended to accomplish that. For Bruiser, and now, for this Kilgan he'd never met. How he was going to accomplish that was another matter entirely, and quite beyond him.

He passed the outskirts of what remained of the little town and turned his feet southeast, keeping his eyes on the mountains not too far in the distance.

_I'll find a way, Dad,_ he promised. _I swear it._


	21. Leaves Under his Feet

#  **An Interlude**

"This is not fun," noted Bel, huddling as close to the fire as she could get without physically merging with it. "Why didn't we bring a tent?"

"Because we're stupid," Mel grumbled back. "Because we're stupid and Dune was three steps behind us and if we're ever going to pull this off it's absolutely vital that Dune doesn't catch us and flay us and feed us to Impa."

"Right," said Bel, holding her hands as close to the fire as she dared. "Impa. Right."

"What do you figure the odds of it being any warmer at Lake Hylia?" Mel asked, tucking her hands under her arms and getting as low to the ground as she could behind the makeshift wall they'd built out of the snow; it kept most of the wind out, but not nearly enough for her liking. She leaned back against her horse and attempted to suck the warmth out of it through sheer force of will.

"About as good as the odds of us actually _getting_ to Lake Hylia tomorrow in this abysmal weather," Bel responded crankily. "Assuming our horses don't freeze to death."

"Assuming _we_ don't freeze to death," Mel corrected her, equally crankily. "Urgh. Remind me to kill myself next Darunia offers me a way out of trouble. Who knew it'd be this much work."

"Stop talking," Bel hissed. "You're letting out valuable warmth."

"You know," said Mel, "I don't think it—." She cut herself off, as both horses straightened suddenly out of their drowsing and pricked their ears towards something outside the little snow walls. Bel and Mel exchanged a glance, then moved for their weapons.

"Should I douse the fire?" Bel asked in a whisper, though it looked physically painful to even make the offer. Mel shook her head.

"Too late. Whatever they are, they've probably seen it already. We'll just tip our hand."

"Please let it be a Moblin," Bel breathed as they crept silently over to the wall the horses were staring at. "Please let it be a Moblin. Don't let it be Dune. Please let it be a Moblin." They pressed their backs up against the barrier and exchanged another glance, then slowly pushed themselves up to peer cautiously over the top of the wall.

It took a moment for their eyes to pick out the dark shape through the swirling snow. From their angle it didn't look like much more than a lump in the white, being quickly covered by the blowing flurries.

"Trap?" Mel asked.

"Don't know," said Bel, "but it's way too small for a Moblin. Maybe an animal?"

"One way to find out," said Mel tensely, and turned to climb out of the shelter. Bel followed suit. They approached the dark lump cautiously.

"Din's blood!" Bel gasped once they were close enough to make out a few more details. "It's a person!"

"It's a kid!" Mel exclaimed, and immediately pushed her weapon back into its sheath and stumbled through the snow to where the little boy was being slowly buried by the wind. Bel turned around and scrambled back to the shelter, popping up a moment later with a thick blanket in her hands. Mel dropped to her knees beside the boy's still form and hastily pulled him out of the snow. She blinked in surprise at the boy's clothes: he was dressed as though it was summer, not the dead of winter, and all in green, besides.

"A Kokiri," she breathed. She pulled the boy close and looked up to the east. They weren't that far off the Lost Woods – maybe an hour, two if you were a little boy not prepared for the weather. But what was he doing out of the Lost Woods? The Kokiri couldn't leave…

She was jostled back to the current situation when Bel arrived and pulled the boy from her arms, wrapping him tightly, head and all, in the thick woollen blanket.

"Come on," she said. "We need to get him back into the shelter." They got to their feet and moved back behind the relative safety of their snow walls. The horses flicked their ears curiously as they climbed back into the shelter with their perplexing bundle.

"Stoke the fire," said Mel, taking the little boy back from Bel. She set him gently on the ground and pulled the blanket back to check if he was breathing. Though his lips were blue, and his freckles stood out starkly against the grey tint of his face, he was still alive. He trembled and whimpered, but didn't open his eyes. Mel frowned and wrapped him back up again.

"We should put him between the horses," she said. Bel looked up with a frown.

"If they roll over they'll kill him," she pointed out.

"If we don't get him warmed up, the cold will," Mel countered. "And the horses we can control."

"All right," said Bel. They spent the next few minutes doing everything they could to start warming the boy up despite the weather's efforts to the contrary. Once they were done, and there was nothing left to do but wait, they sat back down and did just that.

"What's a Kokiri doing out of the Lost Woods?" Bel said with a frown.

"I don't know," said Mel unhappily. "But once this storm clears up we have to put him back. The Kokiri can't survive outside of the woods."

"Urgh," said Bel. "Acqul's going to kill us. He's already reluctant enough about helping us. I can't help but think showing up late isn't going to help our case."

"Well we can't leave him to die," Mel pointed out. "I don't think Acqul would want that either."

"I know, I know," Bel said, waving her off. "I'm just saying." She offered her twin a wry smile. "Maybe we can ask the kid to write us a letter so Acqul believes us. He'd technically owe us, right? Saving his life and all. Might make life at Lake Hylia a bit easier for us." Mel returned her smile and curled up around herself.

"Look on the bright side," she said, "we could be Thomas. He must be bored out of his skull out there at the Desert. I can't imagine being meek little Thomas in a fortress full of warring Gerudo. They've probably locked him up in the dungeons 'for his own protection.'" Bel giggled.

"Poor guy," she said. "He just can't catch a break, can he?"

***

"What do you think?" said Rue, her weariness evident in the lack of irritation in her voice at having to discuss anything with Sahasrahla. "Will it hold?"

"Of course it will hold," returned Sahasrahla, his own weariness evident in his lack of patience with the Gerudo. " _I_ made it. Shield runes are my specialty."

"And you are old and tired," returned Rue flatly. "How long?"

"The night," said Sahasrahla, after a moment of consideration. "Unless they have spontaneously sprouted mages. The magic cannot be unwoven by physical might, merely by time." Rue gave a curt nod and turned to peer down over the edge of the wall.

"Nabooru!" She called. The young Gerudo leader looked up. "The shield will hold for now." Nabooru nodded and turned to her people.

"Regroup!" She shouted. "Purple, get the wounded out of here. Anybody still one hundred percent get up on the walls – I don't care what colour you are. Watch that shield and sound the alarm if it shows even the slightest sign of breaking."

"Your faith is inspiring," muttered Sahasrahla. Rue offered him a cool look.

"When fighting beasts born of black magic," she said, "one is best to be ready for anything."

"Any Elite who can still walk, to me!" Nabooru continued, then turned and jogged toward the ladder leading up to where Rue, Sahasrahla and Thomas were standing, surveying the carnage just beyond the shimmering white shield extending through the air between the Moblins and the Gerudo gate.

Thomas could still see them, just beyond the haze of the shield: a massive, roiling crowd of brutality and viciousness and violence. They'd gotten too close – that was why Sahasrahla had thrown up the shield. But even then it had taken him the better part of an hour to weave one strong enough to stem the tide. A group of Gerudo had left the relative safety of the walls to meet the Moblins halfway and hold them back in the meantime – none of them had come back. Thomas suspected that they knew they wouldn't be when they left, and yet still they had gone. None of them even questioned it. Some of them had looked eager.

They were an odd people, the Gerudo. Odd, and frightening.

Down below, the Elite separated themselves from the rest of the Gerudo and moved for the ladder Nabooru was scaling. The Sage of Spirit offered Thomas a feral grin as she hit the top of the ladder – it was almost frightening, really, the sudden flash of white in a bloodstained face. He didn't know how Nabooru could be smiling at a time like this – she, in fact, didn't seem tired at all; unlike everyone around her – but he decided that perhaps it was because she was crazy.

"Not bad, Terry," she said. "You don't look too worse for the wear. Did you throw up yet?" Thomas gave her an affronted look.

"No," he said, struggling to maintain a polite tone through his tiredness and wounded pride. Nabooru barked a short laugh and turned to the ladder as another white-clad Gerudo climbed up to join them on the tower. She put a hand on her hip.

"You owe me ten rupees, Amplissa," she said. "He hasn't thrown up yet." Amplissa snorted.

"Probably lying," she said. Thomas frowned at her and opened his mouth to defend himself – foreign allies or not, he'd been dealing with this type of thing since Rue had dragged him out there, long before the sun had set, and he was really starting to get sick of it – but Rue cut him off before he could.

"His performance has been satisfactory," she said, cutting the two younger Gerudo off. "For a boy. He is his mother's son after all, apparently." Nabooru and Amplissa exchanged a glance, then sighed and gave up their teasing. Thomas stood there and tried to decide whether that was a compliment or not, but in the end settled for being happy it seemed to have diverted Nabooru and Amplissa's attention away from him.

"So," said Nabooru as a few other Elite came up the ladder. "Not bad for a day's worth of fighting, eh?" Thomas briefly considered pointing out that it had actually been a day and half of a night, but decided the distinction wasn't worth risking his current amnesty over.

"You are overconfident, young one," Rue said sternly. This seemed to break through Nabooru's buoyant mood somewhat.

"What is it?" She asked, frowning suddenly, picking up on some note in Rue's voice that had escaped Thomas' notice.

"I don't know," Rue answered, her own frown deepening in her face. "But there is something we aren't seeing. Something…shimmers in the air when I cast my spells. Something…aches in my bones, and that's never a good sign." Sahasrahla gave a cough that sounded vaguely like 'arthritis', or perhaps, 'senile', but Thomas was apparently the only one who heard or cared. Nabooru shook her head.

"Rue, if something was up, I would have sensed it," she said.

"As I've said," Rue responded, "you're overconfident. And you're drunk on the spirit of your sisters. Your senses are blinded." She sighed then. "Never mind," she said. "Just…keep a stiff watch up while we tend our wounded and regroup. The old man is passing with shields and it should hold long enough. But just in case."

"All right," said Nabooru unquestioningly.

"Now," said Rue, "I am old. And I am tired. I need rest if I am to be ready to start again come the morning. You too, boy," she said as she brushed past Thomas. "I'll not have you passing out tomorrow at a critical point." Thomas threw an uncertain look at Sahasrahla, who winked at him and nodded.

"Best do as she says, boy," he said. "No offence, but you look like you could use the rest." Thomas nodded and turned to follow Rue.

"What's our next step?" Amplissa asked Nabooru as Thomas walked between them. Nabooru frowned.

"We do as Rue says. We beef up the watch. And then we wait for the greens to tally our losses and let us know who can and who can't fight any longer. Get rest where we can grab it. This time belongs to the Moblins as much as to us, and we aren't the only ones regrouping. I need to jump to the Sacred Realm to update and be updated with the other Sages. I won't be long. Amplissa, you're in charge 'till I get back." She continued to hand out orders and assignments until Thomas was too far down the ladder to hear her. He was surprised when he realized that Rue was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder. She gestured impatiently at him, and he picked up his pace.

"You have done well for your first battle," she said, turning to walk back towards the fortress.

"I didn't really do much," Thomas noted, unsure of what to do with her apparent praise. "Just held spells for you and Sahasrahla." Rue arched an eyebrow at him.

"What do you they teach you in the Sheikah Caverns?" She demanded. "Even the smallest contributions matter in war. Do you think the twelve-year-olds, stuck in the nursery sewing bandages are any happier with their position than you with yours? But they do not whine. They know their job is just as important as even Nabooru's, commanding from the front lines." Thomas shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to suggest that I was unhappy, I don't—"

"Bah," said Rue. "Do not lie to me, young one. You want glory and power as much as anyone your age does. You may have it yet, before this war is over, but in the meantime content yourself with your role. You may only be holding spells for myself and the wizard, but doing so leaves us valuable time and concentration and energy to craft more complex spells than we would otherwise be able. Do you think Sahasrahla could have woven that shield had you not maintained his other spells for him? No. He could not." Thomas furrowed his brow. She sighed at him. "I am neither praising you, nor being critical. I am merely making an observation that perhaps you had not. Pay attention, boy, as the old man and I cast our spells and weave our magic. Though we haven't the time to teach you, you may learn more by watching than you think."

"I…thank you," said Thomas, because he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. It seemed to satisfy Rue, though.

"Retire to your quarters," she said. "I will fetch you when I have need of you again." And with that, she was gone. Thomas watched her go, then sighed and headed towards his room. He was tired – more tired than he'd realized in the heat of things – and was suddenly immensely grateful for the chance to rest.

War, he thought to himself as he tumbled into bed without even taking off his boots, was nothing like what he'd expected it to be.

***

"You're right," said Brayden tensely as he and Renaud surveyed the pending conflict from their rooftop vantage point. "Something's not right. Those aren't the Hylian guard."

"But what are they?" Renaud asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied the two rough groups gathering on either side of the market. It was hard to see them through the swirling snow. On the one side were Eldrick's followers: a hodgepodge of soldiers, civilians, and probably just about any non-Hylian currently in Castletown. Eldrick Sr. had wasted no time in sending out word that reinforcements were needed at the Market, and the response was resolute. They definitely outnumbered Durnam's force, but Brayden didn't think that was going to count for much.

Durnam's force was lined up in a neat and orderly fashion on the other side of the market. They all wore dark cloaks that offered no clue as to the wearer, but there was something about them that smacked of combat experience, and something else entirely that smacked of something not-quite-right – even through the sheet of white. There was a smell in the air that was familiar, somehow, but every time Brayden thought he placed it, it slipped out of his mind and was gone again. He suspected everyone else was having the same problem, and that didn't make him feel any better.

"You don't think they've got a mage, do you?" he asked. Renaud didn't answer, but his frown darkened exponentially.

"This isn't going to go well," he said. "We need a contingency plan."

"What we need is a way to escape – to get everyone out – when this all starts going wrong – however it starts going wrong. Any chance you can get Eldrick out of here? If something happens to him…"

"No," Renaud responded. "I could perhaps talk him into removing his son from the fray, but at this point? It's likely too late for that. Dorian will resist, as always, and by the time we've convinced him the fight will have begun."

"This situation is a goddess damned powder keg," Brayden hissed. "We _absolutely need_ at least _one_ of the Eldricks to maintain support, and we can't afford to give Durnam any more ground. A stalemate would suit me just fine, right now, until we can deal with the Moblins and actually have resources to dedicate to Castletown, but something tells me that's not going to be possible after tonight…"

"Brayden!" Renaud gasped suddenly. "What about the sewers?" Brayden blinked.

"Come again?" He said.

"The sewers," Renaud repeated. "You asked how we could get everyone out. What about the sewers? There are at least four entrances nearby. If this goes horribly we can pull everyone down into the sewers and regroup elsewhere." Brayden thought about it.

"What if they chase us?" He asked. "They could surround us easily down there, and they have access to the maps." Renaud offered him a grin.

"Aye," he said, "the _Hylian_ maps. The ones in the palace don't include the Sheikah additions." Brayden blinked again.

"Oh," he said. " _Oh_. You're right." He paused. "But where are we going to get a Sheikan map on such short—the Archery Shop!" They turned as one to peer at the Archery shop – it's door locked up and its windows dark since Bruiser died. "Bruiser was our man on the ground here," Brayden said. "He'd have a map, for sure."

"All right," said Renaud, with a quick nod. "You grab the map, I'll let the Eldricks know. We'll meet back up here in ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen," said Brayden with a wry smile.

"Why fifteen?" Renaud asked, surprised. Brayden shook his head.

"Because when my brother meant to hide something well," he said, "even _he_ would be hard pressed to find it again…"

***

The first thing Mido was aware of was the not-exactly-pleasant smell of having been too close to an animal for too long. The second was that he was cold – not as cold as he had been, of course, but what warmth he had now was still only in his extremities; the inside of him was still cold – and he had a headache and was very, very dizzy. The third thing he became aware of was that he wasn't alone.

He attempted to call out a threat; to make sure that whoever they were knew exactly who they were dealing with, but what came out was more of a moan, or maybe a honk, and wasn't very threatening at all. Mido spontaneously decided he missed his fairy partner.

"He's awake!" Said a voice near him.

"Tough little bugger!" Said the same voice, but from somewhere else entirely. And then someone was picking him up, pulling him out from between what turned out to be two large animals Mido had never seen before, who offered him a mild, tame look before he found himself staring at two, identical faces.

"Wow," said one, with a bright smile, "are you ever cute."

"How do you feel?" said the other. Mido tried to respond that he was fine and shove them away, but it didn't work out like that. Instead he whimpered and curled up tighter in his blankets. "Poor kid," said one.

"Hey," said the other, "I know you're not feeling well, but can you tell us why you've left the Kokiri Woods?" Mido cracked open one eye again and stared at them. They didn't look like anybody the Great Deku Tree had described, so he closed his eye again and shook his head.

"All right," said the one. "Then as soon as this storm lets up—"

"—We'll take you back," finished the other. This penetrated through the cotton blanket wrapped around Mido's brain and he opened both his eyes and stared at them. He tried to tell them no, but couldn't remember for a moment how to move his mouth. He frowned and focused on it, forcing his mouth to work.

"N-n-n-n-no," he said finally, unable to control his chattering. "I n-n-n-n-n-need….I n-n-n-n-need…g-g-go…" The two identical girls exchanged a glance that was lost on Mido.

"Sweetie," said the one in a kind voice, "you need to go home."

"You'll die if you stay out here," added the other. "We have to take you back."

"N-n-n-n-o!" Mido said again, clearer this time. He started to struggle against the blanket wrapped tightly around him. "N-n-n-n-no! I'm-m-m-m on a m-m-m-m-ission. G-g-great D-d-d-ek-ku…"

"A mission!" Exclaimed the one as the other attempted to tighten the blanket around him.

"Stop struggling," she said firmly. "You need to stay in the blanket to stay warm. You've been in the cold too long."

"What mission?" Asked the first, but Mido refused to answer her, merely shaking his head. He was only supposed to tell certain people. The girl tried a different track. "Where?" She asked. "Where do you have to go for it?" Mido considered the question. The Deku Tree had told him to be quick; he suspected the two animals might actually be horses, and hadn't Link told him that riding a horse was like riding the wind? And he didn't know how far he'd already made it, but he knew he couldn't continue in the cold and the strength-sucking whiteness that blanketed the ground out here. And the two girls _did_ seem very nice. And the Great Deku Tree hadn't said he couldn't say _where_ he was going…

"C-c-c-c-castlet-t-town," he finally chattered out. "O-or K-k-kakarik-k-ko." The two girls exchanged another, longer look, and Mido was given the impression that they were having some kind of silent conversation he couldn't hear.

"Castletown's closer than the Lost Woods," pointed out the one.

"But in the opposite direction of where we're headed," pointed out the other, then added in a hiss, "and Brayden's there. What if he catches us?" Mido blinked at the name. Brayden. That was one of the people he could tell his message to.

"Brayden's busy with the civil war," said the one. "He—" but Mido interrupted her by taking one hand out of his blankets to grip her sleeve.

"B-b-brayden," he gasped. "M-m-m-mission." The two girls' eyes widened in surprise.

"You have to talk to Brayden?" asked the one.

"That's your mission?" said the other. Mido nodded and gave them a pleading expression.

"P-p-please," he said. "P-p-p- _please_." They exchanged yet another look.

"The storm isn't over yet," said the one.

"Castletown isn't that far," countered the other.

"The gates will be up."

"They'll let us in with a sick little kid. Not even Durnam's _that_ heartless." There was a pause. "Look at him, Bel. He's really sick. We need to get him inside somewhere or he'll never warm up." The other still looked doubtful. "We can hand him over to Brayden and let Brayden figure out how to get him home. In again out again, that's all. We can't just—"

"All right," said the other. "All right. Let's suit up, then. I'll take the boy."

"Put him inside your coat."

Mido tried to respond, to say thank you, since that was polite, but they moved him and his dizziness grew exponentially worse so he didn't say anything, just let them bundle him up and put him on the horse.

One of them – the one that wasn't holding him – doused the fire, and the light died out with a hiss and sputter, and for some reason, it was the saddest thing Mido had ever seen.

***

" _Goddess dammit_ , Bruiser!" Brayden snarled, tearing the sheets off of Bruiser's bed and shoving the mattress off the box spring. It felt more than sacrilegious to be destroying his brother's room like this – it was always the most meticulously kept part of the whole building – but he _had_ to find that map, and he was sure Bruiser would have forgiven him if he'd been alive, and besides, it wouldn't be the first time Brayden had made a mess of Bruiser's things, now would it? It was kind of appropriate, in an ironic sort of way.

So he kept his brain focussed on his task, instead of on the memories that lived in the walls of the Castletown Archery Shop.

There was nothing in, under, or around the box spring.

"Map," Brayden said. "Map, map, map. If I was a map, where would I be?" His eyes fell on the framed map of Hyrule hung on the bedroom wall – it was an old map, and someone had 'amended' it by sticking an extra sheet of paper with the phrase "Gerudo Fortress" in the approximate location of the desert, just outside the frame. Someone else had evidently then amended that by drawing an angry face in the "o" in Gerudo. He frowned. "Wrong map. If I was a super secret map of the Castletown sewers I wouldn't be on the wall." He started to move towards the door – the only place left to search was the kids' room – but paused. "Unless…"

He turned back around and moved over to the map of Hyrule. "Unless I was on the back of a not-so-secret map hung on a wall." He pulled the frame off the wall and slid the back off. There, crinkling behind the visible map, was a second piece of parchment. "Bruiser you bastard," Brayden muttered, peeling it out and verifying it was the one he needed. "If you wouldn't put this stuff in places like this I wouldn't have to tear your room apart every time I want to steal something that belongs to you." He slid the backing back into the frame, and hung it back up on the wall, taking a moment to straighten out the Gerudo's Fortress, then turning and bolting out into the hallway and down the stairs.

He slipped out the back door and moved his way around to the front again. He could see Renaud splitting off from the Eldricks at the front of the massive crowd and moving back towards their agreed to rendezvous point and he doubled his pace to meet him back up on the rooftops.

"Did you find it?" Renaud asked.

"Yes," replied Brayden, pulling himself up onto the snow covered roof. He pulled it out of his coat and they immediately bent over it, scanning the detailed plans for a feasible regrouping point.

"What about here?" Renaud asked, pointing at a section of the map, but Brayden shook his head.

"Too close. We won't be able to put any distance between them and us. Here?"

"Too far, now," Renaud replied. "We'll lose too many people on the way." He chewed absently on his lip as he surveyed the map. "The only other place I can see would be here, but that's right under the palace, and I'm sure—"

"Oh!" Brayden interrupted, pointing. "Renaud, what about here?" Renaud cocked his head to the side and studied the map.

"I…suppose," he said slowly, considering it. Brayden cast a glance at him.

"We're desperate," he said, "and out of time. And if we're going to get a breather anywhere in this city, it's going to be here." Renaud rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Well," he said, "I suppose it's not that far from the Noble's quarter, which is neutral territory still. And there are connecting tunnels to just about everywhere, actually, now that I look closer." Brayden raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and finally Renaud gave a curt nod. "All right," he said. "We'll regroup there. I'll take the top half of the crowd, you take the back half. We'll spread the word."

"We should split them up," Brayden said. "Take half of them one way, and the other half the other."

"I'll go north, you go south."

"Good," he said. "You see the way?"

"Yes, I have it." Brayden offered him a grin as he pulled the map back and rolled it up.

"Excellent," he said. "Then we'll meet up beneath the Temple of Time."

***

Acqul cast a slow look around the circle of officers gathered around the table.

_I don't understand,_ he said. _Why haven't they attempted to pass the barrier by land? They just keep throwing themselves at it in the water._ Zikole and Eckari exchanged a hesitant look before the former turned to the General.

_We…well, Eckari and I are wondering if perhaps they_ can't _pass the barrier by land. That is, that they can't operate out of the water._

_It_ could _be a trick,_ suggested Aktan. _Meant to lure us into a false sense of security and loosen our defences on land._ Acqul considered it.

_Have we ever seen any of them cross over?_

_No, sir,_ responded Eckari. _They stay in the water at all times. They've fired from the water on our land troops, but that's as much as they've done. It's…highly unusual._

_To say the least,_ added Zikole. Acqul felt his frown darken.

_If it's true,_ he said, _this is an unexpected advantage, but one we cannot exploit until we are absolutely certain. I will not risk our soldiers on assumptions._ For a moment they were silent, each contemplating the best way of proceeding.

_We could capture some of them,_ suggested Aktan hesitantly. _Drag them kicking and screaming up into the air. See how they react._

_Capture?!_ Zikole responded, startled. _Aktan, we're having a hard enough time killing them, how do you expect us to—_

_Acqul!_ All those gathered at the table twisted around as Ruto cut through the water at an alarming pace and skidded to a stop before them. The lieutenants hastily bowed before her, but she didn't appear to notice or care. _The scouts have just reported in. The enemy's gathering to launch an attack at us._

_What?! When!?_ Acqul cried, standing abruptly.

_Now!_

_Dammit!_ He whirled around to his lieutenants, face hardening. _Battle stations!_ He snapped. _We'll finish this discussion later. Prepare the men to stand their ground. Aktan!_ The tall lieutenant stopped short and turned to face him.

_Yes sir?_ Acqul hesitated, for just a moment.

_If you get the chance to take one alive,_ he said, _do it. But go to no extra lengths. Act only if an opportunity presents itself._

_Yes sir!_ Said Aktan, saluting smartly. He turned and sped off after the others to alert the men and prepare for the incoming assault.

_Ruto,_ said Acqul turning towards her, but she cut him off.

_No, Acqul,_ she said, sounding irritated. _Stop trying. I'm not staying behind._ Acqul huffed and crossed his arms.

_If something happens to you—_

_It won't,_ Ruto said. _I'm the Sage of Water. I'm in my element._ Nothing _is going to happen to me. Besides,_ she added, _I've got you to protect me, don't I?_ It was an attempt to placate him and Acqul knew it. She didn't need his protection. If anything, he could use hers. He sighed.

_Fine,_ he grumbled. _You win._

_Of course,_ Ruto replied. _Now let's go. The men need you._

***

"I don't like it," Impa murmured, staring at the maps in front of her without really seeing them. "I don't like it one bit."

"It is certainly…odd," Karun rumbled, rubbing his bad leg absently. "Unlike the Moblins to give us a break. Especially when it seriously appears as though they outnumber us."

"It could be a good sign," suggested Dune. "Maybe…well, maybe Link has been making headway in the Dark World. Perhaps he's managed to do something about the portals and the seals. Maybe even—"

"With all due respect, Dune," Darunia interrupted, his voice gentle and sad, "before you get my hopes up any higher than they already are, I'd appreciate it if you don't finish that sentence."

"Hmm," said Dune. "Sorry. But it _is_ a possibility."

"True enough," said Impa, "but we can't afford to make our plans based on hopes and possibilities. We need to look at the reality—such as it is." She pointed at the map. "The Moblins have fallen back to here—without reason. Instead of pushing the advantage they sacrificed so many to obtain, they retreated. Why? We should have lost the west pass this morning, and yet here it is, in blue and red, and we hold it still. We are good, my friends, but not that good. Are they regrouping?"

"Something has changed," Karun noted. "Some element of this fight that we are unaware of has changed. I don't think they're regrouping. Our scouts have not reported any of the usual activity that would accompany that."

"Then what?" Darunia rumbled. "Karun, if you have an idea then let's have it." Karun frowned darkly as he studied the map.

"They're waiting for something," he said. "It's the only thing that makes any sense. Even had the portals been closed completely, they still have had the advantage. They would be even more foolish to have thrown it away in that case. So regardless of whether or not the portals are available to them, something outside of that is prompting their decision to hold. We _need_ to know what it is."

"But how?" Dune demanded. "It's not like we can ask them. It's not even like we could send in a covert spy. And we don't speak their language besides. Any intercepted messages would be useless to us."

"Assuming they can read," Darunia remarked with a slight grin.

"It is unlikely we will be able to discern what they're waiting for through anything but the Goddesses' will," Impa noted. "As such, we need to focus on what we do in the meantime. How do we fortify our position against an unknown threat?"

"Double the guards," Karun suggested, "increase patrols, keep up morale, prepare contingency plans for every possibility we can think of…"

"And pray," Darunia added.

***

"Is this how the Would-Be-King of Hyrule demonstrates that he is fit for the throne?!" Eldrick Senior's sonorous baritone was audible all over the market, even if his form was hard to pick out through the growing whiteness. "By sending a battalion of _soldiers_ against the farmers and merchants that he would have as loyal subjects?" There came no response from the figures aligned on the other end of the market. This only served to incense Eldrick further. "Well!" He cried. "We will show you what merchants and farmers can do! And when we are done you can take our message back to that fool on his stolen throne! The only ruler of Hyrule is a Hyrule!"

"Why don't they attack?" Eldrick Junior demanded impatiently. "Forget that. Why don't _we_ attack?! They're just standing there!"

"Patience, young master," said Renaud. "Your father knows what he's doing."

"We don't want to throw the first punch, so to speak," Brayden added. "Hard to portray yourself as a reluctant hero if you go around instigating things."

"This isn't instigation?" Dorian demanded as his father continued his monologue. "I thought we were _trying_ to instigate something!"

"We're trying to provoke _them_ into instigating something," Renaud said. "It's different. The moral high ground is an exceptionally important position to hold in any conflict with even _slight_ philosophical or political implications."

"Doesn't matter," Brayden noted darkly. "It's not working." It was true. Eldrick Sr. had been going at it for some time now, but the strange figures on the other end hadn't so much as twitched. Meanwhile, their own forces were growing increasingly jittery. Dorian rattled his sword in its sheath and scowled.

"Why don't you just throw a stone again?" He demanded. "It worked last time." He bent over and pulled a chunk of ice off of the ground. "Like this." He reared back to heave the ice, but suddenly found his wrist in a vice-like grip. He gave a start and twisted around.

"What are you doing?!" He demanded, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Brayden. "Unhand me!"

"I hope you weren't planning to throw that," the Sheikah responded flatly, "because then I'd have to break your wrist." Dorian stared at him incredulously.

"What?" He said. "You can't threaten me! Renaud!" He turned to face Renaud without relinquishing his grip on the ice, but Renaud only frowned.

"This isn't the time, Dorian," he advised, impervious to the youth's offended noise. "I know you want to fight, but that's not necessarily in our best interests at this point. Brayden is right."

"I mean it," Brayden said, and tightened his grip. "We don't know what's going on yet, and until we do we're at a distinct disadvantage. Your impatience is going to get us all killed."

"You," Dorian said in a poisonous voice as he redirected his gaze, "are not my father – and even if you were I wouldn't care what you said. You don't exactly have a sterling track record, now do you?" He attempted to wrench his arm free, but, if anything, Brayden's grip only tightened. "Let go of my arm or I'll have you hanged!" Brayden did nothing but narrow his eyes further. Dorian huffed impatiently. "I'm not going to throw the blasted thing. Take your filthy hands off me." Brayden gave his wrist one last squeeze – suppressing the urge to break it only with a super-human effort – then did as the boy demanded.

"Fine," he said. "But I mean it. Settle down before you—Dorian!" The last was a joint cry on the part of both Brayden and Renaud as the dark-haired youth pulled his arm back again and hurled the chunk of ice with all of his strength. It whistled through the air, carried even further than they'd expected by a sudden gust of wind.

"Idiot!" Brayden snarled, and turned as though to make good on his promise to break the young man's wrist. As he did so, however, Dorian's target moved at last, snapping a gloved hand out from under his cloak to catch the chunk in mid-flight. The _thunk_ of the ice hitting his palm was carried to them on the wind and for a second, everything but the snow fell still. Eldrick senior fell silent. Though he didn't turn to look at his son, even Brayden could sense his rage. Dorian quailed beside him.

Before anyone could react beyond that, however, there was a rustle from the force allayed against them as those in the front of the group threw back their cloaks and raised nasty looking longbows of a make Brayden didn't recognize.

"Get down," Renaud said.

"What?!" Dorian demanded.

"Get down!" Brayden snarled, grabbing him by the neck and dragging him down into the snow. The unmistakable sound of a dozen longbows being fired at the same time snapped across the night; barbed arrows whistled through the air, somehow unaffected by the wind, and over the heads of those quick enough to have followed Renaud's lead. Those who didn't did not remain up for long.

"Father!" Dorian cried, trying to shake free of Brayden to scramble to his feet. Eldrick Sr. was a vague lump in the snow ahead of them, but Brayden couldn't tell if it was because he'd ducked, or he'd been hit. "Let me go!"

"Dorian." Renaud's voice carried a level of command Brayden hadn't heard him use on either of the Eldricks yet. The passive Sheikah stood in front of them and offered the junior Eldrick a hand to his feet. "We need to leave. Now."

"What?" Dorian snapped, shoving Brayden roughly and climbing to his feet without taking Renaud's hand. "No! I'm not leaving! My father—"

"Does not need you distracting him," Renaud interrupted. "This fight, as we have said from the beginning, has its purpose hidden from us. Those men aren't members of the Hylian guard, and those aren't Hylian bows. Your father can handle himself but if you are here he won't be able to focus as he needs to. We leave."

"I'm not—!"

"Dorian, look around you!" Renaud snarled, gesturing. Behind them and beside them several people had dropped to their knees beside those hit by the barbed arrows. The snow was dark with their blood. Across from them their enemies had put away their bows while the Eldricks' forces were still trying to collect themselves amidst the shock at the suddenness of the attack. Now the enemy drew wickedly curved blades – _Those blades,_ though Brayden to himself, _I've seen them before…haven't I?_ He wasn't sure. The thought was slippery and wouldn't stick in his mind – and prepared to advance. "Something is wrong here, Dorian, and the only thing you'll accomplish by staying is needlessly endangering yourself, _and_ your father."

"Well if something is wrong," Dorian snarled back, "then it's all the more reason for me to stay! I'll not leave him now!" And before Renaud could move close enough to stop him, the boy had bolted forward through the storm, drawing his sword as he went.

"Dorian!" Renaud cried. "Dorian! You damn fool boy!" He actually threw a little temper tantrum in the snow, swore violently to himself, and then tore off after the younger Eldrick. Brayden almost laughed. The scene was so unbelievably familiar, that to see it played out by other people was almost heartening.

His joviality didn't last long, however. Before Eldrick Jr. had reached his father the figure who'd caught the ice chunk gestured, and his companions charged forward without warning, unexpectedly swift given the snow and wind. Brayden barely had time to throw himself to one side as one of them barged straight for him.

He was suddenly glad he and Renaud had come up with a contingency plan; he had a feeling they were going to need it.

***

"Hurry up," Bel said with a grunt, attempting to shift the little boy's weight without undoing the blankets wrapped tightly around him. "He's heavy."

"Nobody's in there," said Mel, returning. Bel could sense more than see the frown on her face. "Where are the guards? It doesn't even look like anyone's up on the walls."

"What the Hell?" Hissed Bel. "That doesn't make any sense. Farore, we're in the middle of wartime, there should be _double_ the number of guards."

"Whatever," Mel hissed back with an irritated sigh. "We'll have to take one of the back doors."

"What?!" Bel demanded. "And get caught?" Mel rolled her eyes.

"There's no one here to catch us, dummy. Remember? All the Sheikah have been recalled. Brayden's the only one stationed at Castletown right now. And besides, we need to get inside or he won't be the only one suffering exposure." She gestured at the bundle in Bel's arms.

"All right, fine. Lead the way."

They moved slowly through the growing storm towards the east side of the wall and one of the few secret entrances into Castletown from Hyrule Field.

"You know," Bel said darkly as Mel poked and prodded various bricks in an attempt to remember which one actually concealed the trigger, "the first thing I'm going to do if I ever see Link again is beat him up and take his Ocarina. Never have to worry about travelling in the freezing cold ever again."

"There!" Mel said, finding the right brick at last. She struggled with it for a moment, her mittens impeding her ability to pull the brick loose, but was at last able to remove it from the wall. She reached into the gap it left and fiddled with something on the inside, until at last a portion of the wall slid back, revealing a passage to its left.

"Finally," Bel breathed. "Hang on little guy! Warmth is just a few steps away!" Mel hastily shoved the brick back into place as Bel stumbled into the passageway, out of the snow. She followed her sister in and hit the switch to close the door once they were both safely inside. They exchanged a glance, a curt nod, and then turned and continued to move through the short hallway. The hall dipped steeply a few metres in, and took a sharp turn, coming to a stop at a ladder. Mel scrambled up the ladder and pushed open the trap door. The smell of hay and horses billowed down in a blissfully warm, if malodorous cloud and Mel felt her face break into a smile for the first time in what felt like days. She pulled herself up into the stable, ignored the startled look from the single, agitated horse occupying the building, and reached down to grab the little Kokiri and lift him up so her sister could climb the ladder. She peeled back the blanket and peeked in.

"How is he?" Bel asked as she ascended and turned her attention to refastening the trap door.

"Alive," said Mel grimly. "But that's about it."

"Hmmm," said Bel. "I'm going to have a look around and see if I can't find him a dryer blanket. Then we need to go find Brayden."

"Bel, what's wrong with that horse?" Mel asked, frowning at the nervous animal. It pranced unhappily in its cell, shifting its weight and making dissatisfied noises.

"Probably just the storm," said Bel with a shrug. "Malon said horses are sensitive to the weather."

"Hmm," said Mel. The storm was certainly a bad one; even in the enclosed stable they had to speak up to hear each other over the sound of the wind tearing around outside. "Do we even know where Brayden is?"

"No," said Bel, "but he won't be far. I may not be fully up to speed on the situation in Castletown, but I'd say it's a safe bet he's not at the palace." She produced a thick blanket from a trunk at the back of the stable with a triumphant flourish, and moved back over to Mel. "He's either at the Archery Shop – which would be so fantastic he's probably not, what with it being right across the square – or else he's at the Temple of Time, or maybe with—," she paused to wrap the blanket around the already heavily blanketed little boy, "or maybe with the Eldricks." They turned and moved toward the stable doors. "I mean, come on. He's the only Sheikah in Castletown right now. How hard could it be to find him?"

Mel pushed open the door with her shoulder, and started out into the snow, but stopped dead, unexpectedly. Bel walked into her, and stumbled back a step. "Mel! What are you—." Her voice died off as she peered over her sister's shoulder and took in what looked like an extremely one-sided battle going on in the square.

"Found him," said Mel grimly.

***

"…and that's pretty much it on our front," Nabooru finished.

"You're sure you're not being over confident?" Rauru asked, raising an eyebrow. Nabooru made a derisive noise.

"You sound like Rue," she said flatly. "This is the same war we've been fighting since the end of the Great War. It's the same damn war we've been fighting since there were Gerudo to fight it. The Moblins have been trying for _years_ to break our walls and get at our fortress and we've never let them before."

"These are bigger Moblins," Rauru noted. "Far more dangerous."

"You think I don't know that?" Nabooru snapped, a sudden hint of edge in her voice. "You think _we_ don't know that?" She waved in an irritated fashion. "It doesn't matter. So they're better organized, so what? They're still stupid brutes, and I'm not being petty, I mean that literally. All they've managed to do is execute their same old tactics more efficiently, and with more power than before, but it still won't be enough to break our line. Not what they've shown us so far. We've held that pass for centuries. We've held it against Moblins for decades. They can't get into Hyrule if they can't get through the pass, and they can't get through the pass because Gerudo guard it, and unless things change drastically for them some time soon, they can continue to shatter themselves against our walls, but it will do them no good." Rauru finally nodded, but Nabooru frowned.

"You're still worried," she noted.

"I am," he admitted. "And so are you, I think, if the ferocity of that last rant was any indication. Something is not right here. Things are going too well. You've managed to hold them back in the desert. The Moblins have inexplicably retreated from Kakariko, however temporarily. The Dark Zora are pinned behind Acqul's wall and can't seem to pass it. It's too…easy." Nabooru considered that.

"Well," she said, "maybe…Hyrule's just seen so much war it's finally gotten good at it."

"That," Rauru sighed, "is no more comforting a thought than the alternative, I'm afraid."

"Well, if they've got something up their sleeve, we'll know soon enough," she said. "No point in driving ourselves to drink over it now." She sighed. "Anyway, I've got to get back. With Link out of reach morale is not as good as it could be, and I'm not helping it by being absent. I don't suppose any of the others—"

"You know they haven't, Nabooru," Rauru interrupted her. "I would have told you the instant they let me know. You would have _known_ if he was back, anyway."

"Hmm," said Nabooru with a sigh. "I know. Figured it couldn't hurt to ask."

"I'll update the others on your situation when they come, as per usual," Rauru said. "Keep me abreast as things develop."

"Will do," said Nabooru, and willed herself back to the Fortress.

As her command centre materialized around her, the Elite in the room spared no more than a passing glance before returning to their tasks. Amplissa offered her a curt nod.

"The Moblins have been quiet," she reported immediately. "A few small parties ventured near the shield, but not close enough that we could permanently discourage their curiosity. Otherwise nothing's happened."

"Good," Nabooru said. "Do we have the tally yet?"

"No, but it's looking fairly standard for this type of battle. Maybe even a little on the good side. I don't think we lost as many as we expected to."

"Any purple perform well enough today for a field promotion to red?"

"Not yet. It's still too early in the conflict, I think. But there's three or four that will for sure if they survive long enough, and at least a dozen more that are likely to if the combat carries on long enough." Nabooru gave a curt nod. "Any news on the King?" Amplissa asked.

"Not yet," Nabooru said, forcing a grin. "He's still hiding in the Dark World while we do all the work." Amplissa forced a laugh.

"Typical male," she said. She opened her mouth to say more, but the sound of shouting from the courtyard outside drifted in through the open window. The Elite in the room all froze, straining their ears to determine the source and reason for the sudden noise. The next instant, however, the sharp, clear ringing of the alarm bells cut through the air, and the command centre instantly dissolved into a flurry of activity.

"Nabooru!" A breathless Elite skidded to a stop in the door of the command centre, her cheeks still flushed from the cool night air. "The shield! It's coming apart!"

"Nayru," Nabooru swore viciously. "Trust the old man to screw it up. Amplissa! The mages!"

"On it!" Amplissa bolted out of the room and darted left, heading for Rue's room.

"Everyone else, to your stations!" The order was unnecessary. The Elite were already bolting from the room and out into the night. The rest of the fortress, alerted by the alarm bell, was doing the same. By the time Nabooru was clambering up to her observational post, Sahasrahla was already there, staring in consternation at the smooth white shield shimmering in the air; it was undulating wildly as they watched, wavering and writhing in front of the gates. Through the cloudy surface of it they could see a mass of black on the other side – Moblins without a doubt, waiting for the shield to come down.

"You!" Nabooru snarled, pointing at the old Wiseman. "You said it would hold. What's happened to it?"

"I don't know," said Sahasrahla grimly, unfazed by Nabooru's ire. "It was sound, I know it was. I didn't leave anything out. The runes were correct."

"What's happening to it?" Nabooru demanded. "Why is it doing that? What are we looking at?"

"It's self-destructing," said a tense voice from behind them. They both turned to look as Rue and Thomas ascended the ladder. "Its time has run out. It will shatter shortly and our brief respite will be at its end." She turned a condescending gaze on Sahasrahla.

"I thought shields were your speciality," she said.

"They are," he returned stiffly. "I'm telling you, this makes no sense. You were there when I cast the bloody thing. You know this doesn't make any sense."

"Then why is it—" But Nabooru never got the chance to finish her question. There was a deafening sound, like cracking glass, and the next instant the shield splintered, and then shattered, the pieces winking out of sight before they fell to the ground. The Moblins beyond moved immediately, charging forward, into the gate and the startled Gerudo, and Nabooru suddenly had her hands full screaming orders at her sisters as they scrambled to fend off the sudden attack.

"But," said Thomas quietly, "I thought only another mage could have undone the shield before the morning."

"So did I, Thomas," said Sahasrahla with a frown. He exchanged a glance with Rue and they both shook their heads grimly. "So did I."

***

It was hard to see through the bubbles and blood. The water roiled, whipped into currents and eddies by the ferocity of the battle on the other side of the wall. This was the closest the dark zora had gotten to date. They'd actually managed to get past the bend in the river this time, and for the first time since the start of the conflict, Acqul had a front-row seat.

_Aktan! Up! Zikole! Down! Flank them!_

He shouted a constant string of commands from behind the barrier and his troops responded like the well-oiled machine they were, but the Dark Zora didn't care. They clawed and bit like animals, rending flesh and seemingly immune to pain. They were furious, frantic abominations and that held an advantage all its own.

_Ratu! To the left! Fan out and rake their side!_

It was hard to tell who was dead and who was alive. The bodies floated where they died, but were tossed and turned by the force of the underwater battle, giving them the illusion of life. It made it hard to tell how the battle was going.

_Take another pass!_

Ruto helped where she could – a lucky current here, fortuitous ebb there – but the battle was too close, the Zora too tightly interwoven with the Dark Zora for her to risk any large displays. The Dark Zora, for all their animal instinct, were intelligent enough, at least, to have realized early on that it wasn't wise to allow Ruto the opportunity to use her abilities.

_Aktan! Form up on the gate! Sweep them out!_

Aktan and what was left of his group disengaged from the main combat and cut a path back towards the gate, but the Dark Zora they had been engaging followed them out.

_Hecra!_ Acqul shouted. _To Aktan! Guard his flanks! Zikole! Bakaro! Prepare for sweep manoeuvre down the east side! Eckari! Ratu! Shore up the west side and hold!_

The water swirled wildly as his troops reformed at his command, leaving the Dark Zora scrambling to compensate. Hecra and her group slammed into the Dark Zora screaming at Aktan's flanks, allowing the latter to lead his group at full speed toward the gate. Without slowing a notch, they made a graceful arc as they arrived and pointed themselves back towards the combat, focussed on the east side.

_Incoming!_ Aktan shouted as they shot out again, weapons at the ready.

_Aktan!_ Hecra shouted. _Above!_ But the warning came too late. A small party of Dark Zora slammed into the centre of Aktan's sweep, driving a hole into the line. Acqul's face twisted into a snarl and it was only through a supreme effort on his part that he managed to keep from swearing.

_Bakaro! Fill in the gap! Aktan, pull them back to the gate!_ He turned to his left. _Secki! Over the wall! Back him up!_ Beside him, Ruto's eyes flashed brightly in the now murky water, and Aktan and those soldiers that had been knocked out of the sweep with him, were swept back to the barrier, along with their aggressors. Secki issued several tight orders to his group, and they shot for the surface as a unit, arcing over the barrier and cutting back into the water on the other side. They fell hard on the Dark Zora, momentarily blocking Acqul's view of the sweep, still proceeding in the water beyond. Sekti and his men drove the Dark Zora engaging Aktan's men even deeper into the water, and Acqul was content that they wouldn't be long at dispatching them. Sekti had been held as backup the entire encounter – his men were fresh and ready, whereas the Dark Zora they fought were wounded and tired.

He turned to continue directing the sweep when he caught sight of Aktan, engaged in fierce one-on-one combat with a Dark Zora, separated from the rest of his group and Seki's. He hadn't followed them down.

_Secki!_ Acqul shouted. _Finish them off and prepare for a sweep down the west side! Aktan! Kill that thing and get back to your troops! What are you doing?_

_Taking the opportunity, sir!_ Aktan responded, twisting roughly to avoid a slash from the badly wounded Dark Zora. _As ordered!_ Acqul cut himself off before ordering Aktan back to his troops, understanding at last. He was trying to capture the Dark Zora alive. But Aktan was wounded too, and flagging rapidly. The Zoran General hesitated, moved to order him back, then paused again.

The revelation that the Dark Zora hadn't yet tried to pass the barrier by land – the most logical means of surpassing this particular obstacle – was a cause of both concern and hope. If, in fact, they couldn't leave the water, then all the Zora had to do was hold the river. They would have an unbelievable advantage. They could lessen the guard on land, dedicate more resources to defending the wall itself, maybe even launch land-based attacks and counter-attacks, safe from Dark Zora retribution.

But there was always the possibility that that was exactly what the Dark Zora wanted. That the instant they lessened the guard on land, their enemy would pounce, taking advantage of the weakened defences and pouring past the barrier and into Hyrule proper. The Zora casualties would be immense.

And besides that, they guarded the primary source of water for the entirety of Hyrule. If they lost control of it…if the Dark Zora blocked it somehow, or ruined it entirely….

The risk was too great. Too much was at stake. They couldn't act without proof.

They had to be sure.

_Eckari! Ratu! Prepare for sweep! Bakaro! Zikole! Consolidate the east side! Secki! Execute sweep!_ He turned to his wife. _Ruto,_ he said, _concentrate on the sweep, I'm going for Aktan._ Her eyes flashed and he made a beeline for the surface, breaking into the air just as Secki began his sweep below. He hung for a moment, in the air above the barrier, registering the startled looks on his land-troops' faces at seeing their general throwing himself over the wall, before slicing into the water on the other side.

Aktan was below him, locked in a clumsy grapple with the thrashing Dark Zora, and the General bore down on them. He snapped out his fin blades and slashed deep into the creature's back as he tore by. It gave a warbling, underwater howl and Aktan dragged his own fin blade across its face. It cried out again and raised its hand to clutch at its face in shock. Aktan took the opportunity to disengage from the creature and bolt down through the water toward his general.

_One run, we drag it up,_ Acqul said. _Go!_ The were off like a shot, leaving a streak of bubbles in their wake as they sliced through the water, back towards the snarling Dark Zora. They each grabbed an arm as they tore by it, clenching their hands around it as it thrashed, refusing to let it get loose. Their faces hardened in determination as they drove for the surface. Realizing at the last minute what was happening, it began to struggle harder, sinking its teeth into Acqul’s arm and clawing at Aktan with its feet. But its efforts came too late.

The two Zora burst into the air above, their captive still clenched between them, and landed clumsily on the shore. Immediately several soldiers came to their aid. Two dragged the screaming Dark Zora further back from the water and two others helped the general and his lieutenant to their feet.

"What the devil is wrong with it?!" Aktan said, panting heavily. Acqul turned to look. The Dark Zora was flailing and screeching – it sounded worse above the water than it had below. The sunlight glittered for a moment on its green scales, but abruptly they began to darken and turn black. Its eyes bulged and it scraped at its throat with its claws, tearing its own scales off in its fit. It's tooth-filled mouth opened and it belched a burst of fire, causing a startled gasp from the gathered soldiers, who promptly moved further back – not fast enough for some. The next instant it went rigid as the edges of its scales went red, and it burst into flames with explosive force. Several soldiers standing nearby were caught in the blast.

The unscathed soldiers moved forward to their fallen comrades hurriedly as the burned, shrivelled husk of the Dark Zora fell, still smoking, and was still. Those not currently occupied stared uncomprehendingly at the scene, the battle below almost forgotten in their shock.

"What…does that mean?" Aktan managed.

Acqul had no answer to give.

***

The Sage of Shadow stood deep in the heart of the Sheikan Caverns, breathing in the perfect dark. No light reached these ancient halls and catacombs; an endless labyrinth of earth and shadow extended around her, and she lost herself within it, loosing herself within its boundless expanse. Power flowed in these places; power as old as the world itself, flowing like a black current all around her. She let herself flow with it, breathing in and out with the shadow's tide.

She was looking for something. All day she had been aware of it, fraying the edges of her non-physical senses. That she had not discovered prior to coming to the dark places was significant in and of itself. She was the Sage of Shadow, and nothing could stay hidden from her for long. But whatever this was, was well hidden indeed. She had debated the wisdom of coming here - there was so much still to do, and she was needed in Kakariko if morale was to stay high while waiting for the Moblin attack - but in the end there was already too much they didn't know. They couldn't afford what was possibly yet another unidentified threat lurking around them. And this one she knew she could find.

Nothing escaped her in the dark.

She tested the black waters around her. Here the current was strong, the undertow dangerous for any but herself. Here she _was_ the black waters. She selected a current and let her senses flow down it, drifting along the shadows of the Caverns, searching for the thing at the edges of her awareness. She flowed through the darkness under Marni's bed, observed the young woman bickering with her brother over nothing of consequence - a defence mechanism, she knew, to keep him distracted from the more terrible things to come; she passed through Darunia's shadow and the Sage of Fire fell silent, mid-sentence, and nodded to acknowledge her presence. Karin asked him what was wrong, but she didn't hear the answer, already moving on along the river's flow. She saw Dune, alone and grey-faced and thinking, no doubt, of her children and how they were both beyond her ability to help right now. She continued on in this fashion, observing the Goron and Sheikah inhabiting the Caverns, pausing now and then to listen to a conversation, or note a peculiarity, but saw no evidence of the thing she was actually looking for.

_Not in the Caverns, then,_ she thought to herself with some satisfaction. _So on to Kakariko._ She pulled her senses back to herself and chose another current.

In Kakariko things were much the same. Impa's awareness slipped and rushed through the town's wide streets and narrow alleys, and she observed its inhabitants, continuing about their daily business as though nothing was wrong with the world, but every now and then looking over their shoulder or supressing a shudder. Small gestures, insignificant in the moment, but perhaps not so overall. Impa noted them. If nothing else, it leant strength to the suspicion that the source of the problem was in the town. People were creatures of light - born of it, created by it, living in it - and by definition they cast a long shadow. If there was something wrong in the black current, it was not unusual that even your average person could sense it.

And then, without warning, she found it. A dam in the black river, diverting some of its flow to some other purpose than its own will, while letting the rest flow on. It was a subtle construction, small and unobtrusive She felt her physical form scowl. Whoever had placed it had been aware of her abilities. They had designed it to draw only a little from the endless flow of shadow, no doubt hoping to avoid her notice. And if they were smart enough to do that, they may be smart enough to realize that it would be impossible to hide even a the slightest trickle diverted from her. People, perhaps, were born of light, but Impa had been forged in their shadow, born of the dark places. She was the river as much as its rider.

She followed the artificial current. It lead to a house supposedly abandoned, higher up in town near the mountains. In the house a group of men had gathered, their forms shrouded beneath their literal and figurative cloaks they had drawn around themselves. She saw them both as they were and as the cloak made them appear and she was staggered by the simplicity of the spell. It wasn't a true cloak - that's how they could get away with such a small diversion of power to fuel it. They had not actually disguised themselves, simply prevented the knowledge from registering in anyone's mind. It wasn't a cloak, it was a secret. Unless the secret was shared verbally, those meeting the hooded men would not recognize them, not know who or what they were. They might seem familiar, might even tickle your brain the way they'd tickled Impa's senses, but you would not know them.

Secret Spells like this one had many valid uses, but she doubted that was the case here. She slipped through the shadows of the room to get a better look at the men, trying to find an angle that would afford her a glance beneath their cowls. The men were speaking one of the languages of magic, chanting rhythmically as they wove another spell. She slipped from the dark beneath the window to the shadow of one of the casters, and as she did she realized two things, neither of which was good.

First, the casters were not men. They were Moblins. Slight of build, intelligent eyes, but still undeniably Moblins. The thought made her ill. There were Moblins in Kakariko - Moblins capable of wielding magic! - and they had been unaware. This, then, was why the other Moblins had pulled back. This is why they were waiting. These hidden Moblins would attack from the inside. Would hit at their unprotected flanks and leave them unprepared for am assault on the pass. It was a brilliant plan. Flawless, except that they had been caught.

But then she realized the second thing: the moons weren't the only ones who had been caught. The caster standing over her turned his face down as he finished his chant and grinned an ugly grin at his shadow. Impa realized with a sickening certainty that he knew she was there. She hastily tried to pull back, to remove herself from the black river and return to her body, but she wasn't fast enough. The Moblin held out a beaker in one hand and spoke a sharp word. Impa recognized the spell now. It was an ancient thing, used a log time ago to capture and imprison shades that had escaped from the Sacred Realm.

The beaker in the Moblin’s hand suddenly, explosively radiated light, and Impa felt herself and the black current she rode being sucked up into it, like a vortex, or a whirlpool.

The bastard had cast the spell on his own shadow, trapping it - and Impa - as one would a shade.

She felt her body go slack and fall dully onto the floor in the dark places of the Sheikan Caverns, and then she felt nothing but the searing heat of the bottle of light.

***

The market had become a warzone for the third time in Brayden's life. He ducked one jagged blade - the make was _so_ familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen it before - only to leap over another. He countered a third blow, slashing his sword across his opponents face, and threw a fistful of knives at the first two. One went down screaming and clutching it's eye, and the other staggered drunkenly, at least three simple hilts jutting from it's body in various places.

Whoever these strangers were, they were better than the city guard, but not as good as he'd feared. The downside was that they appeared to have a ready-made strategy in place. After the initial attack - designed, Brayden was now sure, to filter the skilled combatants from the rabble - the enemy had begun to focus fire, ganging up on those loyalists who appeared to represent the greatest threat.

He twisted to dodge a vicious attack and saw, between the chaotic melee, a dark figure through the snow, whirling around a large lump and fending off the attackers closing in on it. It had to be Renaud. No one but a Sheikah could move that smoothly in this blizzard. Which meant the lump was probably one of the Eldricks, which meant it was time to go.

He finished his turn and lifted his sword to dispatch his attacker but realized with a sudden jolt that there was not one, but two of them, and the blow he'd dodged had in fact been a feint. He swore violently and attempted to correct his trajectory, already knowing he was too late.

" _Brayden!_ "

His attacker screamed an inhuman cry of pain and lurched awkwardly forward, it's blade missing the mark as it stumbled, and Brayden took the opportunity to drive his own into it's stomach, letting the man's weight drive it deep. He tore it out and whirled around to deal with the other one, only to find it bleeding to death on the ground. A young Sheikan woman was pulling her sword from it's back.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, forcing himself to be a Sheikah first and a grateful damsel-no-longer-in-distress later. "All Sheikah were recalled! You should be in Kakariko!"

"We're not Sheikah," said the woman, just a little sadly.

"Not any more," said an identical voice from behind him. He turned around and saw a second young woman, this one carefully carrying a large bundle. Brayden blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to exclaim - what In Nayru's name were Bel and Mel doing in Castletown at a time like this - but the first one cut him off.

"Later, Brayden. What do you need?"

Brayden nodded, deciding not to question it. "I need you to spread the word to regroup. Tell everyone to fall back as planned, into the sewers. Then meet me over there." He gestured at where Renaud was still duelling in the snow. "And we'll get the Hell out of here."

The twins nodded and darted off into the storm, still carrying their bundle. Brayden shook his head and turned toward Renaud, racing through the blood drenched snow. He leapt at the back of the nearest attacker as he arrived, driving his sword deep into the unprotected back of it's neck.

"Renaud!" he cried, "we need to fall back! I've sent the message around. Renaud!"

But the ex-Sheikah didn't appear to hear him and Brayden straightened over his kill to squint at him through the snow. He realized with a violent start that the other man was crying silently, tears tracing cold trails through the blood on his face. He wasn't fighting defensively at all. At least seven corpses lay around him, and realizing that there were now two Sheikah to contend with the attackers were backing off to regroup or find an easier target. Renaud’s face twisted with rage and he moved as though to chase them down, but Brayden leapt forward, grabbing him arm and hauling him back. He tensed and prepared to duck if Renaud tried to take a swing at him, but at his touch all the rage seemed to bleed out of the man and he sagged.

"Renaud?" Brayden said cautiously. "What-"

Renaud cut him off with a gesture, pointing behind at the lump Brayden had noticed before. "Stupid boy," he said angrily, voice little more than a whisper. "I told him to leave."

"Dorian's fine, Renaud," Brayden said, squinting at the lump. It was hard to make out the details, but he could see the younger Eldrick kneeling in the snow and holding his bleeding side, and shouting something Brayden couldn't make out over the wind. "He's bloodied but fine." And then he realized what the lump was.

"The boy is fine," said Renaud, grief-struck eyes painful to meet, "because his father loved him as all fathers love their sons, and did for him what you would have done for yours, given the chance."

Brayden felt his stomach drop and along with it all his hopes for salvaging something more than their lives out of the whole mess. Eldrick senior's limp form lay half-buried in the snow, his face covered with blood from an ugly, deep gash in the back of his skull where he'd taken a direct hit from a blade. Brayden didn't have to ask if he was dead.

"Renaud," Brayden said urgently, gripping the other man's arms tightly, "Renaud we need to get out of here. We need to get _Dorian_ out of here or this will have been for nothing. Do you understand? Renaud, please. I need you. I can't do this alone, okay?"

Renaud shook his off and said nothing, but turned and jogged through the snow toward Dorian. He grabbed Dorian unsympathetically by the scruff of his cloak and hauled him to his feet. The boy struggled, but Renaud forced him to stare straight into his face, and the son of Eldrick fell still, face twisting with grief and guilt and rage. Brayden turned away, uncomfortably aware of the intensely private moment.

As he did he saw Bel and Mel approaching him through the snow.

"We told everyone we could find who wasn't already dead," one of them said.

"Hope you know what you're doing, Brayden," the other added. "'Cause we're pretty dead if they follow us down into the sewers."

"I'm aware, thanks," he responded. "I need you two to go with Renaud and Dorian, okay?" he pointed over at them. "They're not...in great mental shape. Your job is to make sure Dorian makes it to the rendezvous in one piece. We can't afford to lose him. Protect him as though he were Zelda, you understand? We're done if he dies. Renaud knows the way to the rendezvous. Make sure he stays on it. Don't let him engage the enemy unnecessarily. This is a retreat and nothing else. I'll meet you there with my group by a different route."

"Got it," they both said.

Brayden pointed at the bundle. "Do I need to know about that?"

"Yes, but it'll have to wait."

"Good, now go."

They moved immediately towards Renaud and Dorian, and Brayden wasted no more time. He turned and bolted back toward the regrouping point for his group and gathered up whatever stragglers he could find on the way, killing their enemy on the way. He and those following him ducked into the alleyway behind the archery shop and he did a quick headcount of those hiding there. All of twenty people.

_We're so doomed._

"Let's go," he said, gesturing to the hole one of them had dug in the snow, per his instructions. The sewer grate beneath had been lifted and people began to drop down into it. Those moving too slowly got a less-than-gentle push from those behind, with Brayden's blessings. "Quickly!" he hissed. Out in the market their strange enemies had begun to regroup as well, realizing most of their prey had slipped away. It would take them point two seconds to follow, and as though the thought was prophecy, a group of them broke off and started to run toward the alley. "GO!". Brayden shouted, shoving the last person in himself and leaping down after them. He landed gracefully on the frozen water that ran beneath the city and broke into a run along his plotted route. "Keep up or be left behind!" he shouted. As one, the group exchanged a panicked glance, then abruptly started running after him.

The cold stone of the sewers seemed eerily reminiscent of a tomb, and Brayden hoped that thought wasn't also prophecy.

***

When Mido came to he was sure he was upside down. For one thing, he was dizzy - far to dizzy to be anything even remotely close to right-side-up. For another he was staring straight up, but he was seeing the ground. Slick, moss-covered stones were set in lines above him, curving uniformly overhead. It was a weird floor, he reflected. How was anyone supposed to walk on it when it was all curvy like that.

But then someone slipped an arm under his head and tipped him up until he was sitting instead of laying down, and he realized he hadn't been upside down and the stones weren't a floor, they were a roof, and he tried to tell the lady tipping him that stones didn't go on roofs they went on floors but he couldn't because he was suddenly too busy trying to not be sick.

"Hey sweetie," said the lady, smiling kindly though her face was drawn and tired in a way only an adult's could be. "Glad you could join us. Thought we were going to lose you there for a while." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "How you feeling?"

"Blurgh," Mido managed. His throat hurt enough to sting his eyes. "Where's the sky?"

"We're underground," the lady said. "We, um...we had to hide. I don't think...it might be a while before we can get you home again. How...how long can you survive away from the Lost Woods?"

Mido would have sagged back against her had he been sitting under his own power. His mission and everything since came rushing back in. The seriousness of the Great Deku Tree Sprout, the biting, lashing cold, the heaviness of the snow...the ladies and their horses...something else...he remembered screaming and...running through dark places... "I don't know," he croaked at last. "I don't know how long I'll survive. But I can't...I have to...my mission."

"Shhhhhh, I know," she said, pressing a bandaged finger to his lips to shush him. "Brayden's here. Are you up to speaking? I can go get him."

Mido nodded. He didn't really feel up to speaking, but the weight of his mission was worse than even the burning in his throat or the unpleasantness in his stomach. He wanted to transfer the burden of knowledge so he could focus on being sick.

The lady set him down gently and got to her feet. Mido weakly turned his head to survey the room and try to guess which one was Brayden. There were a lot of people there and as Mido looked at them he felt a sickness that had nothing to do with the cold from before. They were all ragged and torn, like leaves that fell off the trees and got all dried and crunchy and when you stepped on them they broke into pieces and you could never put them back together again. There was...blood. A lot of it. On them, on the floor, everywhere. They sat in huddles and moaned and cried, or just sat there and stared out at nothing. They clutched their wounds and their wounded and looked shocked and tired and just...broken. Mido's breath left him in a rush.

Link had left the Lost Woods for _this_?

The lady was coming back toward him - only now there was two of her and they had a man with them. Mido stared at the man, sizing him up. Blonde hair turning grey; dark, secret green eyes, haunted by ghosts Mido couldn't identify; Sheikah uniform like Link had shown him once; lines around his mouth and eyes, deeper than he'd expected, the memory of a lifetime's laughs and sobs engraved into his face. This, then, was Brayden.

"You look," he said hoarsely as they approached, "like Link."

The man came to a stop and studied him closely. "Know-it-all Brother?" he guessed.

The little boy struggled to push himself into a sitting position, offended for a moment beyond words. "Mido!" he said indignantly. "I'm Mido! Sheesh!"

The man's eyebrow shot up. "Mido!" he said. "My mistake. Link's told me about you. I'm Brayden, Link's father. I understand you have a message for me?"

Mido coughed weakly and one of the twins helped him to finish sitting up. "The Great Deku Tree Sprout sent me," he said. He raised a hand to wipe his forehead and was surprised by how warm he was. "I have a message for you or the Sages or a bunch of other people he said were generals but I don't know who they are. I know the Sages because they would visit Saria, but not the rest of you. It doesn't matter because I got lost. I don't...I didn't know...it doesn't do that in the Lost Woods. It doesn't snow."

"It's okay, Mido," said Brayden, dropping into a crouch beside him and meeting his eyes. He looked as tired and worn as everyone else; his eyes were like the leaves, just waiting to dry up and crinkle, but they were friendly and warm and Mido felt reassured. "Give me your message and then you can rest. You spent too long in the cold and you need to recuperate."

Mido took a deep breath. "There are Moblins in the Lost Woods," he said, and felt relieved when the three adults around him hissed sharply in surprise. "The Great Deku Tree Sprout says not to worry about the Kokori or the Woods. He is protecting them and no harm will come to either. But he sent me to warn you - I mean, all of you in Hyrule - that they're not normal Moblins. They're new."

"First generation," Brayden said grimly. "We know."

"He said you'd think that," Mido said. "He said they're not first generation. They're _new_ and you've never seen them before. They're little and they're smart and they can do magic. That's what I had to-are you okay?"

The man was very obviously not okay. He had gone as pale as a sheet. "Moblins," he repeated. "With magic... _shit_."

"Brayden, you don't think..."

"That was Moblins who just handed us our ass?"

"Shit," Brayden said again. "Shit shit shit. We have to get the word out. Where's Renaud?!" And then he was gone, hurrying off through the people and calling for someone Mido didn't know.

"Was that everything, sweetie?" asked one of the ladies. Mido nodded weakly and she lowered him back down.

"You did good, kid," said the other. "Rest up and get better. We'll find a way to get you home, don't worry.". She didn't sound particularly convinced but Mido was too tired to doubt her.

He laid down and watched them bustle off after Brayden, speaking quickly and hurriedly between themselves, content for the moment that he had done his job and completed his mission and would soon be on his way home, the only _real_ Kokiri to ever leave the Lost Woods and live.

He sensed again, as he fell asleep, that sinuous, whispering thing that had surrounded he Moblins in the Lost Woods, and hummed along the edges of Link's sword. It was all around him now. It twisted around these people, some worse than others. It lived on them and in them and with them but he didn’t think knew it was there. It frightened him, so he curled up tighter in his blankets and let sleep take him.

He dreamed of leaves under his feet, brittle and crunchy, cracking and breaking into a million little pieces, never to be whole again.


	22. I'm the Good One

#  **Chapter 21**

I come to with a noise that is something less than manly. Every muscle in my body aches, and my head is pounding like I've spent just a _little_ too long at a Goron celebration. My throat is dry and coarse and when I cough even my _lungs_ ache like I've been using them too much, or not enough, or _something_.

"Adrenaline hang over," surmises a voice from somewhere to my side. It sounds tired and stressed, but is making a decent attempt at good humour. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel anything but sore.

I make another noise in response. Manlier this time. A good, solid grunt.

"Are you still real?" I ask after a moment, forcing myself to roll over with a visible wince. I suppose I should be grateful that nothing's broken and I'm not bleeding. A night spent shivering and shaking and tense in a bag is still a million times better than a night spent running loose and killing people, though on a deep, personal level I am happy my mind remembers nothing of what my aching muscles hint at – in _either_ case.

"Nope," Hunter says, and realizes his mistake when my face drops and I whirl to look at him. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Joke!" he says. "I'm joking! Sorry. I forgot nothing's funny here."

"It's really not," I say, too tired to discuss it. "Where are we?"

He smoothes out the edge of a piece of parchment he's looking at and taps it thoughtfully. "Here," he says as I move over to peer. "Though to be honest, I don't think that's useful."

It's not. The parchment is a map he must have started making last night after we left the town-that-isn't-Kakariko. So it shows us where we've been, but not where we're going, which means, naturally, that it completely fails as a map. I tell him as much and he throws me a disgruntled look. "Well at least it's _something_ ," he says. "We might have to backtrack a lot to get this all done, so better to know how to go back than not know how to go anywhere."

"I guess," I say with a negligent shrug, then: "I'm starving."

"There's some rations in the backpack – which, by the way, it's your turn to carry, since I've been dragging it _and_ you around all night. Don't eat them all, we don't know how much farther we have to go and I don't really want to try eating any plants that might actually grow here." A weird, displeased expression crosses his face. "For all we know they probably used to be people." He goes back to looking at his fail-map and I content myself by rifling through the rations we packed back at town and try to find something that doesn't look completely unpalatable.

"Do you need sleep?" I ask, destroying Hunter's careful packing job in my attempts at finding something that isn't green or brown to eat.

"No," he lies without looking up at me. "I've been the equivalent for weeks. I never want to sleep again as far as I'm concerned."

"That'll wear off eventually," I note dully. "We should probably figure something out _before_ it becomes an issue." Hunter, of course, is not even listening to me, still frowning down at his parchment. I roll my eyes. Fine. _He_ can come up with a system when he's finally ready to pass out. I give up on my quest for good food and grab a brown something-or-other out of the bag. It's either dried fruit or dried meat but it's definitely _dry_ and it tastes like Hell.

Which, I realize belatedly, is where it's from. So I guess that makes sense.

I wolf it down anyway.

"Are we still on track at least?" I ask, peering around at our surroundings. It's mostly rocks. We're near the foot of the mountain – what did Feran call it? Turtle Rock. I turn and shield my eyes from the rising sun to peer up at the craggy peak above. It towers menacingly overhead, like a great, black obelisk. A permanent storm rages at the top, lightning cracking viciously into the mountainside; I can hear just the faintest rumble of thunder from all the way down here. The lightning's likely the cause of the landslides Feran mentioned. Just the sight of it is enough to make you feel small and powerless and vulnerable. I make a face at it.

So, back in Hyrule we have a dormant volcano filled with peace-loving, brother-hugging Gorons and we call it Death Mountain. And in the Dark World they have what is literally a mountain of death and they call it Turtle Rock.

Goddess. Whatever.

"Depends on what you mean by on track," Hunter answers me finally, rolling up the map with a sigh. "We're still heading south east along the mountain, so I guess yes, you could say we're on track, but it's not much of a track, and I'm worried about what happens when we get past the mountain. We don't really have any indication of where to go from there except 'east.'"

"Maybe we can stop and ask for directions," I say. I meant it to be sarcastic, but at the last minute I change my mind. It's actually a legitimate possibility. "There were friendlies – well, sort of friendly. More like, not-entirely-not-on-our-side-insofar-as-they're-on-anyone's-side-lies – in Blind's town, right?"

"And maybe," Hunter says with a wry grin, "this Makani of yours will fly down out of the sky and _carry_ us back to her palace. But from the sound of things, she can't fly, and I doubt we'll be meeting much more that's friendly."

"Well," I say, "then I guess we just head around the mountains and head east. I'll know the place when we get there, and besides, I got the impression that Anduriel's realm is actually pretty large. Once we're _in_ there she'll know it and be able to find us. It doesn't have to be precisely the Dark Palace or whatever it's called."

"Oh good," says Hunter, "because I had exactly _zero_ interest in meeting this giant Maeasm of yours."

"It's dead," I point out. "I killed it."

"No offence, Link," Hunter notes, raising an eyebrow at me, "but not everything you kill actually stays dead, if you take my meaning. I'd rather avoid the possibility entirely."

"Fair en—." My concession is cut short by a long, low howl from somewhere to the south. Hunter and I both turn and look in the direction of the noise, startled in my case and alarmed in his. The sound trails off eerily, leaving an odd stillness in its wake. It didn't sound close, but it's hard to say for sure, and there's no way to tell which way it's moving.

"Maybe…we should head out again," Hunter says after a moment. "Keep moving."

I say nothing, but – agreeing entirely – I turn and repack the bag as Hunter gets to his feet and rolls his parchment up. I sling the bag on my back and we head out again, neither of us saying anything, but every now and then shooting a furtive glance back over our shoulder. Whatever the howl was, we don't hear it again.

Sometime later we slow our pace again, back to a steady walk. "So," Hunter says once the silence has gone from tense to companionable again, "what was it like?"

"What was what like?" I ask, my brain obviously not in the same place as his.

"The Makani," he says. "The Sentinel. What was it like?"

"You mean Anduriel?" I think about it. "Honestly? She was kind of…heart breaking. I've never heard of her and her siblings before, but even so I get the impression that she's just…a shadow of what she was back when things were the way they're supposed to be." A frown plays across my face at the thought of her. "She's…blind, and she can barely fly, and there's this stoop in her shoulders. She kind of looks like she's just…like every step is a struggle; every day is a fight." I shift the bag's weight on my back. "I think I know how she feels, but I can't imagine how much worse it must be for her."

"Do you think she knows about the other one?" Hunter asks.

"The one posing as God?" I ask. He nods. "She knew it was corrupted. Whether she knows it's dead…I don't know. Maybe she does – like how the sages can sense each other." The thought causes a shiver of guilt to run up my spine. Whatever they are now, the other sentinels had once upon a time been her only family. It's not like I could have gotten away with anything less than killing the corrupted one, but…I hate to think I may have added anything to Anduriel's burden. She's carrying enough.

"You've really never heard of the Sentinels?" Hunter asks curiously. "The Hylians call them angels."

"Well _sure_ I've _heard_ of angels," I say. "Probably seen a picture or two, but none of them _really_ hit the mark – I mean, to be honest, I'm not sure it's a mark you _can_ hit if you haven't met one – but the Hylians don't keep as many stories as the Sheikah and Gerudo do. They're too concerned with the present to really care about the past."

"Dad never told you any?" Hunter asks, genuinely surprised. "They're some of the best stories we have. The Makani are like…everything the Sheikah are supposed to be. Completely loyal defenders, relentless in pursuit of their duty, merciless in its execution."

I laugh despite myself. "I don't see Anduriel being merciless," I say, shaking my head.

"Hmmm," Hunter says, "but even you admit she's not at the top of her game. And almost all the Makani stories are war stories. Epic battles here in the Sacred Realm and once or twice in Hyrule. All over the Triforce. Stories about them destroying entire armies – just the seven of them against a thousand soldiers. The army destroyed to a man, and the Seven hardly breaking a sweat. They even fought with a Hero once – capital H Hero, by the way. Like you."

"The first Hero, actually," I clarify, and Hunter blinks in surprise.

"Yeah. How'd you know? I thought you hadn't heard any stories."

"I met his father," I say. "Remember I told you about Sahasrahla? The first Hero was his kid. Anduriel said he died defending her."

"Wow," Hunter said. "You weren't kidding when you said he was old."

"What, you doubted me?" I demand, offended.

"You, um, like to exaggerate," he points out, the mock-gentleness of his tone belied by the smart-ass twist of his lips. "I tend to play down just about everything you say that sounds like it ends with an exclamation mark."

"I don't exaggerate!"

"Oh! What was that?" He cups a hand to his ear. "Is that an exclamation mark I hear?" He gestures negligently. "Playing it down as we speak."

I throw a punch at him that he's more than ready for, ducking and weaving easily, a broad grin on his face. I don't quite manage my usual laugh, but I offer him a grin of my own in reply and he falls back into step beside me. I shift the weight of the bag on my back again.

It's a simple exchange, and even though I don't actually feel any more hopeful about our odds or the situation – I'm still pretty sure I'm doomed to fail and now I have the added guilt of dragging one of my best friends along for the ride – but somehow I guess I don't feel quite so bad.

Even hell, it seems, is better for the presence of a friend.

***

It's midday by the time we've come far enough around the mountain that we start debating whether it's safe to change direction or not. Hunter is a fan of keeping to our current path, and I am a fan of turning east and getting away from the mountain.

"Why?" Hunter asks, giving me a look that says he doesn't not-believe me, but he's not ready to concede the point yet either. "What's wrong with playing it safe and following the mountain for a bit more? If, like you say, Anduriel's realm is big then it wouldn't hurt us to make sure we're definitely going to hit it, instead of just skirting the edge. We're not in danger of going too far, but we're in trouble if we don't go far enough."

"It's making me nervous," I say with an irritated shrug. It's making me sound crazy is what it's doing, but it's true just the same. "Anybody tracking us will know where we're going – our path is too obvious."

"If anything we'd be harder to track," Hunter points out. "We're walking on solid rock for most of the way. We're not even leaving a trail."

"Not one you could see," I counter. "But there's more ways to track than with your eyes. Too many things here track by scent."

Hunter's expression is calculating. "You're thinking about that howl," he notes and waits for a shrug of acknowledgement from me. "Link, that was hours ago," he points out.

"Yeah," I say, "about that…I heard it a couple more times after that."

"What?!" Hunter demands, and I wince. "I didn't! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," I say, "and the last time I heard it I wasn't sure. It was early this morning, after I'd changed back and I still sort of had the rabbit's hearing. It was fading by the last one."

"Did they sound like they were getting closer?" Hunter demanded, worried now.

"No," I answer. "But they weren't getting farther away either, so they're moving in our direction."

Hunter falls silent, lips pursed in thought as he considers the latest development in the ongoing drama that is our lives. "Technically," he says slowly, "there's no reason to believe that whatever it is is after us."

I give him a look that he, as recently as thirty minutes ago, dubbed my 'Dark World look': it's an expression without light, or animation, or hope; dull, resigned, weary down to my bones in a way that has nothing to do with physical fatigue. "Hunter," I say grimly, "I'm the Hero of Time and you're a recently stolen maiden that Ganon just happens to need to keep the seals bent around the portals so he can take over Hyrule. Unless that thing is out hunting for fun – which I admit is a possibility – there's no reason to believe it's _not_ after us. We're currently the Dark World's Most Wanted." My lips twist sardonically. "Just like home, I guess. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate irony?"

"It would be more ironic if we were heroes here," he says, but his heart's not in the exchange. His eyes are distant as he looks behind us and considers the situation. "How sure are you they're after us?"

I close my eyes and carefully weigh my opinion on the issue – how much of it is just Dark World defeatism, and how much of it is based on an actual impression of events? "Very," I decide finally. "That howl…it wasn't a casual thing. I think it was a call. Whatever it was picked up our trail. And the other howls were probably answers."

"Answers?" Hunter says, looking distinctly displeased with the information. "Like, it called for back up?"

"Yeah," I say grimly. "Exactly."

"Great," he says. He looks for a moment like he wants to keep questioning me, but decides better of it in the end. He's smart enough to know he hasn't been here long enough to understand just how brutal the logic of this place is. He's also learned over the years not to question my instincts. The less able I am to explain an opinion, the more likely it's true. Call it my Hero sense. Sometimes I think if I listened to it more often I could avoid ninety percent of the trouble I seem to get myself into. "All right," he says at last. "Let's break from the mountain. East it is."

The sun burns blood red above us as we change direction and move away from the mountain, toward the dark planes in the distance. It's a few minutes before Hunter voices the question neither of us wants to ask.

"Do you think it's the Gerudo?"

"I think we need to keep moving," I respond uneasily, which is all the answer Hunter needs.

"We need a plan," he says quietly as we pick up our pace. "If it's the Gerudo then I don't think we'll be able to outrun them. I mean, I don't think we'd be able to outrun normal Gerudo, let alone crazed Dark World Gerudo."

"Crazed Dark World Gerudo who can tear people in half," I point out, Wandi's hideous, painful cackle rising unbidden in my mind. "What the Hell kind of plan do you want to put in place for _that_ exactly?"

"Well _I_ don't know," Hunter snaps, " _you're_ their freaking King. What do _you_ think we should do?"

"Kill ourselves," I snap back. "Failing that, find a deep, dark hole to hide in until they go away. I'm not their King – Ganon is. All of _my_ crazed Gerudo are back home, probably going to war on the Hylians because oh my Goddess I just realized they don't know what happened to me." I come to an abrupt stop, my face going slack in horror.

"What?" Hunter asks, stopping a few steps ahead and looking back behind us nervously. "Link we need to keep—"

"Hunter, the Gerudo," I say, looking at him now, panic rising like a tide in my chest. " _My_ Gerudo. They don't know where I am. They don't know what happened to me. All they know is that I went to Castletown and never came back. They can't even…Nabooru probably can't sense me."

Hunter gives me a look like I've gone crazy. "I'm not quite sure what this has to do with—oh my Goddess." His eyes go wide as he realizes just what it is that's made me stop. "Link," he breathes. "Link, they wouldn't. Tell me they wouldn't."

"I don't know," I say. "They wouldn't…Nabooru wouldn't, not right away. She knows better, and the other Sages would…but there's only so much she can do. And only for so long."

"They're busy," Hunter says, trying to keep his desperation out of his voice. "There's a Tower in the desert too. They'll have their hands full with the Moblins. They won't be able to go after Castletown."

"I have to get home," I say, and start moving again. "Nabooru will need a direct order. I need to tell them I'm not dead." My face twists furiously. "I'll kill them if they attack Castletown. They know that. I didn't go through everything I went through to unite the whole damned Kingdom and bring them into it for them to destroy that now!"

"In their defence," Hunter says, "Agahnim started it by nullifying the treaty. And from what I understand, him attacking you is actually more of an act of war than attacking the whole fortress. If the Gerudo killed Zelda it would be the same."

"Gee," I say humourlessly, "and what do you know, the entirety of Castletown thinks a Gerudo _did_ kill Zelda."

"Ah, Farore," Hunter swears. "How smart _was_ Agahnim? How the Hell did he play us so badly?"

"Never again," I vow, and there's something of the beast in my face and voice when I say it. "No one will ever play us like that again."

And then I hear something I never thought I'd hear again – a hollow, wretched sound, like dust on old bones, like a Stalfos, but with too much flesh.

"Are you so sure?" asks a voice that is something right out of my nightmares. Hunter hisses and I swear and we both whirl around, weapons clearing sheathes before the turn is complete, instinct and muscle memory initiating a reaction before our brains have even begun to process the impossibility of hearing what I'm hearing.

"Agahnim!" Hunter shouts, face twisting with hate and disbelief.

And so it is. The old wizard stands before us, robes billowing around his form, making him appear larger, stronger than he is. His face is hidden behind a scarf and cowl, but the hands he weaves in the air are unmistakable – crooked fingers, old and brittle, covered with dark rings just as ugly as him.

"I killed you," I snarl, and something tickles the back of my brain. Something is wrong here. This isn't possible. I watched the old wizard die; I watched him turn to dust and bones in my hands. I ran him through myself.

"You did," Agahnim agrees and chuckles, the sound is as hollow and cold and wretched as the rest of him. "But can you do it again?" And without waiting for an answer he laughs maniacally and turns, streaking off, back toward the mountains, his feet not touching the ground.

I snort contemptuously. Like Hell I'm chasing him down. I'm not an idiot, and this has trouble written all over it. There's no way he's—

Hunter, unfortunately, doesn't think to ask me my opinion. He says nothing, but I catch just enough of a glimpse of his face as he bolts after the old wizard to know what he is and isn't thinking of. He's thinking of Bruiser, murdered by a mind-controlled friend. He's thinking of Malon, vanished without a trace except for a streak of blood on the Ranch's wall. He's thinking of where we are, and how we got here, and whose fault it is. He's thinking what the Dark World wants him to think, and I suddenly realize what it was Anduriel saw in my face when she would tell me to fight it.

Hunter's smarter than this. But the Dark World has found his weak spots and impaled them all with spears of hate and rage. The maidens are resistant to its pull, Anduriel said, to a degree that depends on their purity. Laruto's never seen anyone die, never killed anyone, never blasphemed, never hated, never consciously chose to hurt someone. She's too young.

But Hunter….

The Dark World gleefully stabs its spears into my weak spots as well and I'm off like a shot after him. Fear lends me the rabbit's speed. I can't lose Hunter to the Dark World; I'm already its prisoner, but if he loses himself too…we're done for. "Hunter!" I call. "Hunter, stop! It's a trap!" But he doesn't hear me, or doesn't want to.

It has to be a trap. The wizard's dead. I know he is. And now his corpse is leading us back the way we came – back toward our pursuers. The coincidence…the _convenience_ is too much.

I spot them as I round a corner, feet pounding hard against the rocky ground. They're above us, at least three of them lining a crag, little more than shadows hidden in the mountain's bends. I skid to a stop and tear my bow off my back in a single, fluid motion. I don't know what they want, and I don't intend to find out.

Light arrow, fire arrow, ice arrow, regular arrow?

Go big or go home.

If only it were that easy.

The light arrow is nocked and streaking through the air almost as soon as I think it. It hits its target with a blinding explosion of light, and the figures on the crag are suddenly shrieking in surprise and pain as they clutch their eyes and retreat further back into the shadows – minus the one I hit. I smirk despite myself.

That's the thing everyone always forgets about the light arrow.

It's still an arrow.

The figure I hit cries out in a half-howl, half-scream and topples from its perch. I get enough of a look at it as it falls that my breath catches in my throat and everything sort of goes cold from the inside out. It's definitely a she, and she's definitely a Gerudo judging by her uniform, but that's where the sense-making ends. Her form is twisted and bent, half-woman, half-animal. Her face is as lupine as a wolfos', may as well be the head of a wolf, and half her torso and one arm are covered in dark grey fur. Her hand ends in claws. Her legs are bent oddly, having picked up a fourth joint somewhere. Her thighs, under her dirty white pants, look vastly more powerful than even a Gerudo's have a right to be. The rest of her, though – the other arm, most of her stomach – is perfectly normal. Dark skin, five fingers ending in fingernails, nothing unusual about it..

She looks like I imagine I do when I'm half-way to being the beast.

She hits the ground with a sickening combination of cracks and thuds, right in front of Hunter and it's finally enough to snap him out of his rage. He stumbles to a stop and whirls around to look at me in surprise; an expression that abruptly turns to horror.

"Link!" he shouts, reaching out to me with his free hand in that helpless way panicked people have. As badly as I want to know what's got his shorts in a knot, I'm afraid it'll have to wait.

It's a sad testament to my life to date that I'm completely unsurprised when something hard and blunt smashes into the back of my skull and I fall head-first into the familiar comfort of unconsciousness.

***

When I come to we're still sitting at the bottom of the mountains, except now I'm trussed up like a misbehaved calf at Lon Lon, complete with a foul-tasting gag shoved in my mouth. I can see Hunter out of the corner of my eye, bound in an equally inconvenient fashion, and studiously avoiding my gaze. His lips are pursed around his gag, and his eyes are downcast. He is, without a doubt, embarrassed as all Hell and probably kicking himself for having been a thrice-blinded idiot. Were I not so intimately equated with idiocy – especially Dark World spawned idiocy – I might rub it in.

I grunt at him in what I hope is a conciliatory fashion. He must understand because his face twists into a Very Sheikah Expression, which basically says 'it doesn't matter if you forgive me; there's no excuse for what I did. The only redemption I can find is on the end of my own sword'; because they're stupid like that sometimes.

Sometimes I wish the races of Hyrule could all be just a little more like the Gorons.

Just _chill out_. You don't need to be hardcore all the time.

Though – as I finally take a look around to see just how much trouble we're in, here – it occurs to me that maybe a little hardcore wouldn't hurt us after all.

A collection of Dark World Gerudo is gathered around an impressively large fire, atop which I can make out the vague shape of what has to be the woman I killed earlier. This would be her funeral pyre, then. Oddly enough, the familiar ritual brings me some degree of comfort. They can't be completely lost to the Dark World if they still care enough to burn their dead.

"Add more wood to the fire," one of the women snaps. Like the dead woman – like all of them, actually, now that I look closer – she seems to be half wolf, though her face and both her arms remain a woman's. "We need to speed this up. She'll be mad enough the fool got herself killed; we don't need to let some idiot scavenger consume the flesh and steal the power."

Disappointment settles in my gut, hard and cold. Silly me, thinking this was about some kind of emotional connection. Should have known better. I have a hard enough time getting _my_ Gerudo to acknowledge or act on emotional bonds. These are Ganon's Gerudo, and he's not exactly warm and fuzzy.

A dark shape peels away from the group and goes to a nearby wood pile. It's a wolf, I realize; a large one. There are a few of them mixed in with the strange women, but it's not until the canine grabs a log in its jaws and turns to return to the fire that I catch a glimpse of its face – more specifically, of the too-intelligent yellow eyes, and the large yellow jewel that seems embedded in its forehead.

Oh.

The wolves are Gerudo too.

Or were.

She returns to the fire and drops the wood, then nudges the woman who spoke earlier, throwing a glance back in our direction. The woman turns to look at us, and I see in her face something that stirs up memories of a few years back, when I first met the Gerudo – before Zelda changed time and after.

The Gerudo are a layered people, which isn't necessarily something you know unless you've spent a lot of time with them, or else you're particularly intuitive. The Gerudo themselves don't necessarily know it. My dad does, and I do. I think Sahasrahla knows it, too.

The outer layer, the one that everyone sees, is rock. Hard face, harder fists, not even a hint of mercy in either. Beneath that is the Gerudo fire, licking around the edges and burning all the time. It's their pride and their ferocity and their tempers. It's what makes them thieves, as well as warriors, what drives them to compete and to conquer. It's what makes every Gerudo throw herself at the desert and dare it to do its worst. Most people don't get further than that.

If you can, though – if you can survive that second layer – you find an unexpected oasis of calm. If it's the fire that makes them dare the desert, it's the oasis that lets them survive it. It keeps them from being consumed by their own flames. It lets them stand steady, unwavering, immovable. Their single-mindedness, their determination, their abject refusal to be beaten stems from there.

The woman approaching us from the fire has all of that, and in spades. I can see it in her walk, in her stance, in her face. Turn her into a cute little kitten and I would still recognize it. That's not what bothers me, though. It's her eyes. Her eyes that stir up those old memories.

In her eyes I can see that underneath all of that, Gerudo layers and overwrought analogies aside, there's a hollowness that shouldn't be there. It's easy to think that Gerudo strength comes from their hardness or their fire or their calm, most people think exactly that, but they're wrong. There's something in them, something at their core, underneath everything else, that's undefeatable, and incredibly essential to their existence. I don't know what it is, I haven't found a way to describe it yet, but I know it when I see it, and I know it when I don't. This woman doesn't have it.

Not unusual, I suppose, given who her King is.

Ganon has no use for that fourth layer.

The woman crouches down in front of me and I meet her stare defiantly. Her strange eyes – they're mostly brown, but with a yellow ring around them that appears to be bleeding in toward the pupil – flick up to the Master Sword on my back, then back down again to my face. "You are the Hero of Time?" she asks, as though the answer isn't immediately obvious to both of us. I narrow my eyes at her and she pats my cheek as she gets back to her feet. "Don't get comfortable. We won't be here long." There's a chorus of harsh laughter from the women around the fire and I'm reminded of another aspect of the collective Gerudo personality – they're not funny.

"I wonder if Nobernal will take his eyes," muses another half-woman half-wolf as the first returns to the fire. "His spirit must be strong. I wonder how much power they hold."

"Hush yourself," the first woman snaps, crossing her arms and staring into the fire. "The Hero belongs to the King. Nobernal will not touch him, and neither will you."

A wolf at her side barks at her, and turns to look hungrily at Hunter. She shrugs. "But he must be dead for the eyes to have any power at all," she points out in answer to some question we are obviously not equipped to understand – though the answer is all kinds of concerning in and of itself. "And if he dies we will be in a world of trouble. Ciardi would have our heads."

A woman to her left – Gerudo face, but wolf-ears and eyes – snorts in a decidedly derisive fashion. "I doubt she'd _want_ yours, Apheri. No teeth to bite, no ears to hear. Even your eyes aren't—"

Apheri moves so quickly and so viciously that Hunter and I both give a start, and the Gerudo around the fire scuttle backwards to put room between themselves and her. She leaps at the woman who spoke and drives her fist into her gut with devastating force, then cracks the other one across her face. The woman drops to the ground, gasping, blood running along her cheekbones from the nasty cut next to her eye. "Do you wish a Blood Challenge?" Apheri snarls, Gerudo face twisted with a distinctly canine rage. "Because I will happily issue it. Say the word, _sister_."

The woman on the ground stares up at Apheri and I can see her trying to find a way out. She obviously does _not_ want a Blood Challenge, but just as obviously to admit that now would be to submit to Apheri anyway. I know I should be paying more attention to the politics at play here, but I'm sort of stuck on the Blood Challenge thing. I didn't even know they still did them – even before I became King they were practically non-existent; nothing more than climaxes in Gerudo stories. Rue said she saw a couple when she was a child, but there hasn't been one issued in decades.

Luckily for the bloodied woman on the ground, she's saved from burning disgrace or violent death by a sudden and frightening crack. The air around us suddenly drops several degrees in temperature. Hunter shudders beside me as our eyes fall on the new arrival spontaneously standing in the firelight, and it's all I can do not to do the same.

This, then, must be Nobernal.

It's another Sentinel; definitely corrupted, like the one playing God. Black wings, grey-tinged skin, hands and feet ending in taloned points. This one has black hair, long and straight as bone, but dishevelled and damaged. Its leather armour is battle-scarred and unkempt. Two long knives hang at its waist, rusted and coated in what's probably blood. It looks like it's been fighting a war that's never ended and never will. More frightening, however, are the gaping holes where its eyes should be. Two points of nothing in its eerily beautiful face, like looking into a void.

The Gerudo have thrown themselves onto the ground, the Blood Challenge forgotten.

"You have lost one of your number," says the Sentinel. Its voice is sweet and high, almost melodious in tone. If I close my eyes I can almost imagine I'm hearing one of the angels from the Hylian pictures. But I don't close my eyes, and that thing is not an angel. Not anymore.

"The...Hero fought back," Apheri says, her voice struggling to rise above a whisper. I can hear fear in it. "He shot her from her perch."

For a moment the Sentinel says nothing, turning its sightless face to the fire and contemplating the diminished form within. "Did you save her eyes?" it asks, but Apheri is already reaching for the pouch at her side, apparently predicting this question.

"Of course, Nobernal," she says, and I can see her fingers shake, just a bit, as she pulls the pouch free and tosses it to the Sentinel.

Nobernal catches it effortlessly and pulls open the drawstrings with slow, deliberate motions. She reaches into the leather bag and pulls out a perfectly round eye, glistening wetly in the firelight. She makes a pleased noise and delicately pushes the organ into her own socket, then reaches into the bag again and follows suit with the other. Hunter gags beside me and I feel my stomach turn.

Just when I thought the Dark World couldn't get any creepier...

Nobernal blinks slowly, clumsily, around the unfamiliar eyes. They're yellow, like the wolves', but the colour is shifting as I watch. A sickly green seeps slowly out from the pupil, bleeding into the iris as Nobernal blinks and looks around at the Gerudo crouched before her. "She hated you, Apheri," the Sentinel says slowly, as though reciting something. "She thought you were weak and fearful. She plotted to kill you in your sleep tonight and deliver the Hero and the Maiden to Ciardi herself. She knew of at least two others plotting to do the same and intended to beat them to it." She's blinking faster now, each flicker of her eyelid spreading the green like poison, eating through the yellow until there's barely any left. "Her only concern was that I would seek you out myself and then she wouldn't get her chance." She laughs, a strange, almost girlish giggle. "Well," she says, as the yellow in her stolen eyes disappears entirely, overwhelmed by the green. A strange smile splits the Sentinel's face and her new pupils seem to expand as we watch, growing rapidly, eclipsing the iris and spreading deeper, into the whites – there's no green anymore, either, as lost as the yellow under the black. "I guess it's a moot point now, isn't it?" And then the eyes are gone entirely, vanishing into the spreading darkness, lost in the voids in the Sentinel's face.

Hunter makes a small noise beside me that translates roughly into: _what_ the _Hell_ was _that_?! Before I can respond with my own, however, Nobernal turns to peer at us and the noise dies in my throat. She starts walking toward us, still graceful for all her general state of disrepair, and all I can think is: _I want my sword, I want my sword, I want my sword_. But my hands are tied behind my back and out of reach of my sword or any other weapon, so all I can do is shift closer to Hunter – whether to protect him or hide behind him I don't even know. Neither is technically an option at this point.

The corrupted Sentinel drops into an easy crouch in front of me. She smells of old blood and rotten meat. I can feel my face pale, but I force myself to stare her in the face, if not the eyes. Shamed though I am to admit it, there's still too much of the rabbit in me. I'm afraid to look into those voids. "Hello," she coos at me, tilting her head to the side in a curious fashion. "You're not what I imagined. I thought you would be taller, less blonde. I was picturing a brunette. More like your friend."

She turns to look at Hunter, who I'm sure would stiffen dramatically if he wasn't already straight as a board. "You're a Sheikah, yes?" she purrs at him. "Clever little Sheikah, escaping my sibling like that." She reaches out and gently takes his chin in her taloned fingers, turning his face one way and then another, to study it. "Pretty eyes," she murmurs. "Pretty, pretty eyes. Blood of the Sages there, I can see it. Lots of power, shame you have to be a Sage to get at it. Be a sage or be dead. Would you like to get it? Would you like to access your power?" She giggles again and shakes her head. "No, I thought not. Clever little Sheikah." She kisses his cheek and releases his face. "You'll stay in your prison this time, yes? Crystal and magic, not so bad. There are worse prisons, little Sheikah. Worse cages. I know. I've been in them."

She turns back to me and tilts her head to the side again. "You, though...no cage for you, I think. No cage could hold you. Not the Hero. Destiny loves you, she does. Destiny loves you like a son, loves you like a mother. Like a lover. She loves you like a God, and like a worshipper. So close, you and destiny. So close. But destiny is a fickle mistress, easily distracted and no heart to break. She would not miss you. She would just call another. Something my master fails to understand I think. There has always been another. There will always be another. And there's something you fail to understand too." Her smile grows cold and fear wrenches my gut sideways in anticipatory terror even before she reaches out to wrap her hand in my tunic and hurl me bodily through the air. I crash into the kow-towing Gerudo and they scramble frantically away from me as the Sentinel gets to her feet and storms over to me.

She peers down at me with a face twisted in pain and hate. "Heroes die," she snarls. "You always forget that. All of you. You're not immortal! Not like me! Not like my family! We cannot—we do not—you cannot kill us! You can't! Not even you!"

"Nobernal," Apheri says cautiously, looking panicked. She has her hands up like she's dealing with a skittish horse. "Nobernal, the King...your master...he said—"

" _I KNOW WHAT HE SAID!_ " Nobernal shrieks, and reaches down to grab me and hoist me into the air by my shirt. "That was before! That was before Sirana died!" She bares her teeth at me, razor-sharp and entirely too close to my face. Her breath is rancid. "You killed her. You killed her, but you can't. We can't die! You can't kill us! _YOU CAN'T KILL US!_ " She shakes me violently and in between the dizziness and terror I can barely think. " _I WON'T LET YOU!_ " She raises a hand, talons just as sharp as her teeth, and for what I'm sure is the last time, I am one hundred percent convinced that this is it. I'm dead.

I'm really, honestly dead.

And like every time before it except once, somehow, miraculously, I'm wrong.

She freezes where she is, arm in the air, obviously struggling to bring it down. "No," she hisses, fighting with herself. "No, I have to. I have to. I have to! _I HAVE TO_!" She breaks through whatever block it was preventing her, but the delay was all the time destiny needed to save her favouritest person in the world (or however that's supposed to work). Hunter – clever little Sheikah is right – has taken advantage of the rather dramatic distraction to cut himself free with one of the multitude of knives hidden in his uniform. Been too long since these Gerudo had to deal with a Sheikah, I guess. The awkwardness of doing so aside, everyone knows you strip 'em naked BEFORE you tie them up.

He's smart enough to know he can't hurt the Sentinel – or too scared to try – so he does the next best thing. He throws himself at my back and tears his knife through the ropes binding my hands behind me. I give myself over to instinct – no time to think this through – and raise my hand to my sword. As her talon comes down to tear my head off, it meets nothing but cold steel and blue fire. The Master Sword slides through her wrist like it's butter and she screams and drops me, stumbling backward.

You would think she'd be clutching the stump where her hand used to be, but she's not. She's trying to cover her eyeless voids with her remaining hand. "No!" she screams. "Nonononononononononononono _NO_! Stop! _STOP_! I don't want to see! I don't! I don't want to! _STOP!_ "

I freeze where I am and stare uncomprehendingly at her. She keeps stumbling back, tripping over the wood pile and falling to the ground, still scrambling away. She's...terrified. Despite myself – despite everything – I feel a sudden stab of pity. Moving very slowly, I sheathe the Master Sword, putting out the blue fire, and the Sentinel finally stops moving backwards. Breathing raggedly she jumps to her feet, and I tighten my grip on the hilt of the sword, ready to pull it out again if I have to, but Nobernal doesn't approach. Her face twists again with fear and hate and grief, and I realize she's crying. "I'll kill you," she whispers, a promise if I've ever heard one. "I swear I will. I'll kill you for what you've done." And then she turns and spreads her wings, leaping into the air and speeding away.

"What the _Hell_?" I manage, staring after her in shock and a complete lack of comprehension. My hands are shaking, I realize belatedly, and Hunter looks like he can't quite believe we're not dead.

"Farore," he breathes slowly. "Nayru. You weren't kidding. Oh my Goddess, you were so not kidding. That thing is...was...I've _never_ —."

"You'll want to be taking your hand off your sword now," says a dangerous voice behind me, the residual panic in the tone doing nothing to dull the menacing edge.

Oh. Right.

Gerudo.

"Um, no," I correct her, turning around to face Apheri and her heavily armed Gerudo, once again on their feet and pointing various weapons at us, "I don't think I _do_ want to do that, actually. I didn't just stare that Sentinel down so I could surrender to _you_." The contempt is dangerous – _very_ dangerous if the sudden flash of teeth in Apheri's face is any indication – but deliberate. It's not that I think I found us a way out – because good Goddess we are so unbelievably screwed right now it's not even funny – but I might have found a way to buy us some time. And every second I buy is another second we keep breathing.

"Link," Hunter says nervously, because he's never quite sure whether I'm being cocky because I have a plan, because I'm bluffing, or because I'm just like that. He doesn't generally like my plans anyway. He's definitely not going to like this one. "We're outnumbered here. I don't know that we have much of a—"

"Apheri, right?" I cut him off, nodding at the woman who spoke. She scowls at me and says nothing, so I scowl right back at her. "You got the drop on me last time, you understand that? You used a cheap trick to get us into an ambush and I _still_ managed to kill one of you before you hit me from behind. I wasn't ready, I didn't know how many of you there were, or even _what_ you were. I was worried about a friend who was distracted." To his credit, Hunter doesn't show it on his face, but I know he's wincing on the inside; unfortunately, I'm not in a position to be polite.

"Making excuses?" Apheri demands with a smirk, and I'm telling you, that twist of her lips is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It means she's buying it. She's taking the bait.

Long live Gerudo pride.

"Stating the facts," I reply, with my own smirk. "Trying to keep you from making a very bad decision. What I'm saying isn't that those circumstances applied before – it's that they _don't_ apply now. I'm not just ready, I'm _willing_ , do you understand that? I know what you are now. I know how many of you there are. And now I know I've got nothing to lose, because if I let you take me, I'm dead anyway." I smile at her with too many teeth. "That's some _damn_ good incentive to kill people right there."

"You know, I don't think you _do_ know what we are," Apheri returns with a derisive snort. "If you did you'd know just how pointless your bluster is. We're—."

"Gerudo," I interrupt her flatly. "Two Elites, three red, five purple, and whatever the full wolves count as. Assuming you're a standard tracking group, I'm guessing at least two of the three of them were red before they changed."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Apheri demands. The corners of her lips twitch up into a canine smile. "I suppose I'm surprised, at least, that you've fought enough Gerudo to know the uniforms at your age, but—."

I bare my teeth right back at her, letting my own Gerudo pride drive any hint of amiability or friendly competition from my face. "Fought them, trained with them, rule them," I answer, drawing on every single ounce of whatever blood in me counts as Gerudo and channelling it into my voice. "Link, King of the Gerudo, at your service."

There's a spatter of startled laughter from the Gerudo, but Apheri's eyes flash and she clenches her fists – not easily startled, this one. "You think this is a game, child?" she demands, and in her voice is a promise of imminent violence. I've crossed a line and suddenly it's not a game for her either anymore. "You have no idea what you're saying."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me I don't," I dare her. "I'm not joking. It's a long damn story and I don't much have the patience to go over it with you when all your little friends have their weapons out and pointed at me. Want me to prove it? The nursery is in the west wing of the Fortress, buried in the back of it to keep the kids away from any attacks. Coming in from the front entrance, left, left, right, second right, two lefts, right, and it's the third door on the left." That, at last, startles her, and I, in turn, am startled by the sudden flash of concern that flickers through her eyes like lightning – is she worried about the younglings? Seriously?

Don't have time to ponder it now. "Not enough for you?" I ask coolly, and blink when I realize I've got all their attention now – maybe directions to the nursery was overkill. "Ask me anything. Anything a Gerudo King would know. I can tell you the history of the Gerudo, from the deal you made with the Goddess in the Sand, right up to the current war with first generation Moblins that the sisters you left behind are fighting right now. I can give you names and personal histories of the entire Elite, half the reds, and no few of the purples. I can show you a half-dozen fighting styles unique to the Gerudo. I know all fifteen ways to catch a leever, and the _only_ way you ever seem to prepare it."

"You're bluffing," Apheri snaps angrily, and the faces around her harden. Fists tighten around weapons. It's not a game for anyone anymore. I've seriously offended them now.

"Do you know Rue?" I ask, and there's not a face before us that doesn't register recognition of the name, and shock at hearing it from an apparent outsider's mouth. "Little old lady with fists as hard as the mountain, and a left hook that could knock a Goron flat on his back. She gets this expression when she's not happy, like her face is going to collapse in the middle. She's a mage of no small skill, and cooks up a mean sleeping draught. She had four daughters before she got too old to, and she knows all their names but won't tell me who they are. All she's got to do is come out on the wall on a bad night and stand there for a bit, not saying anything, not speaking at all, but every woman out there knows she's there and is stronger for it. She's well past the age where she should have wandered out in the desert to find a Gerudo's death, but the fact of that matter is that none of you can bear to part with her and there's always someone with some excuse to keep her around just a little while longer."

"How do you know Rue?" demands one of the wolf-women nearest the fire, and abruptly lowers her head when Apheri glares at her.

"I know her because I'm her King, and her friend," I respond. "Who, in that fortress, _doesn't_ know Rue exactly?"

"It doesn't matter," Apheri snarls, and draws her sword. "There's only one King, and that's Ganondorf. It doesn't matter how you know Rue. You're no King, and you're certainly not Gerudo. Lay down your weapons and submit, or we'll drag you back unconscious and bleeding to death. I won't tell you again."

I resist the urge to lick my lips nervously. I've poked at their pride long enough. Time to get to the point. "You're in charge of this unit?" I demand of her.

She gives me an irritated look. "Obviously," she snaps. "And you're our prisoner, so—"

"Ah, ah!" I say. "Not prisoner. Honoured guest. And I don't just mean because I'm King."

Apheri stares at me like I've grown two heads; so, I can't help but note unappreciatively, does Hunter. "Did Nobernal rattle your brains?" she demands. "Get on the ground. Now."

"No," I say flatly. "I said I'm your honoured guest, and I meant it. What's the name of your leader? Like, the woman you report to. Head of the whole Gerudo contingent out here."

"Ciardi," Apheri says flatly. "And if you don't—"

"Good," I interrupt, grinning widely at Apheri's obvious irritation – the Gerudo in me is gone, chased off by a little Kokiri boy, made giddy by his proximity to the wrong end of a sharp blade. "Then I issue a Blood Challenge to Ciardi. Until the challenge is met, I'm your honoured guest."

There is a collective dropping of jaws around the circle and their expressions alone are almost worth the sheer amount of pain I know this "plan" is going to cost me in the end. Apheri takes a step forward, rage twisting her features. "Do you have any idea what you're playing at?!" she demands. "You can't just—"

"Yes I can," I interrupt her again. "I know what a Blood Challenge is. I know what's involved. And _as_ Gerudo I have the right to claim one. It also means that as soon as the lot of you put your weapons down, I'll release mine and we can all just head back to your main camp like one big happy family. I won't run. I know the rules."

"Really?" Apheri says, unimpressed. "Then who's your second?"

"Hunter of the Sheikah," I say without hesitation, gesturing at Hunter over my shoulder. He hisses in annoyance.

"Thanks for highlighting my race, there, Link," he says. "Really. I appreciate it."

"Oh for Nayru's sake," I snap back. "You're wearing a pair of pyjamas with a big freaking eye painted on the front. I think they noticed."

"Sheikah can't take part in a Blood Challenge," Apheri interrupts angrily. "You _don't_ know the rules."

"No," I correct her with exaggerated patience, "they can't _issue_ a challenge. But they _can_ take part in one. No rule against that."

"Does _he_ know what's involved?" Apheri demands, and Hunter rolls his eyes.

"Lady, I never know what's involved," he says bitterly. "Soon as he opens his mouth I'm lost."

"I'll brief him on the way," I say with a shrug. "And before you ask, I don't know who my third is yet. I'll decide once I'm face to face with this Ciardi."

"Planning on making some friends between here and there?" Apheri demands dryly.

"Farore, I'd be happy not to make any more enemies," I respond honestly.

"Apheri!" cries one of the other women – the one who started a fight before Nobernal arrived. She's the other Elite. "You're not _seriously_ going to humour this? He _can't_ issue a challenge. He's not Gerudo!"

"My job is to get him back to base in one piece," Apheri says, turning to face the dissenter. If I didn't know better I'd say she's showing the other woman more teeth than she showed me. "He says he wants a Challenge, that means he goes peacefully and we avoid a lot of trouble. He makes a break for it, shoot him down, then break his knees." The other woman opens her mouth again, but Apheri's eyes glint and she speaks before the dissenter can. "I haven't forgotten about our _own_ Blood Challenge, Lierana. Do not question me again."

The other woman scowls, but backs down. Apheri turns back to me. "Fine. I hear your Challenge and will relay it to Ciardi at my earliest convenience, oh blonde Gerudo King. You and your friend will remain within 10 feet of one of us at all times, and you're responsible for finding your own shelter within that limit, or doing without. Give them back their bag and their rations – you'll find your own food or go hungry. We won't be sharing."

One of the wolves barks questioningly, cocking its head to the side. Apheri snorts. "That's Ciardi's problem, not mine. A Challenge is issued; how she reconciles that with orders is up to her. It's out of my hands." She turns away from us and starts moving back and away from the fire. "I want the reds on watch, keep a close eye on our _honoured guests_. They try to run, we go back to the original plan. Anyone touches them otherwise, and I will feed your eyes to Nobernal myself. We'll head out when the flames die."

Hunter slings an all-too-friendly arm around my shoulder as we watch the wolf-women throw us distrustful looks and reluctantly go back about their business.

"Hi," I say without looking at him, busy watching the Gerudo to make sure none of them decide that maybe my Challenge isn't worth respecting.

"Hi," he says without warmth. "Remember back when we were past the mountains, dealing with all those foreign representatives and nobles and stuff?"

"Yuh-huh," I confirm. One of the women near the fire (two wolfos arms, a tail, and teeth) makes a threatening gesture at me, and in return I give her my biggest, friendliest smile.

"Remember the rule we had? The one where you weren't allowed to talk unless I said so?" he asks.

"Nope, can't say I do," I lie, but he grabs my shoulder and wrenches me around to look him in the face.

"Link, I'm not joking," he says, dropping any attempt at putting a humorous spin on this. I can see legitimate fear and uncertainty in his eyes and I immediately feel bad. "What just happened? What's a Blood Challenge? What did we just get ourselves into?"

I hesitate, casting a suspicious glance at the Gerudo, before drawing Hunter further away – still within 10 feet of the nearest Gerudo, thankyouverymuch – and lowering my voice. "A Blood Challenge is an old – like, the oldest – way of settling disputes among the Gerudo without splitting the entire race into factions, or between Gerudo and outsiders, without resorting to all out war. It's like a Hylian duel, only it's not just one fight, and it's not just the challenger and the challenged. If a challenge is accepted, then each side has to pick a second and a third, and the three of them are considered a single unit – one's honour is all of their honour, and one's shame is all of their shame. If I remember the stories correctly, there's three stages – archery, mounted combat, and melee. The first two are there to give both sides time to consider whether they want to actually go through with the whole thing – if you back out it's very, very embarrassing, and you will _never_ live down the shame, but if you go through with it and you lose..."

"What, Link?" Hunter demands. "What happens if you lose?"

"Well, that's one of the reasons they call it a Blood Challenge," I answer evasively.

Hunter's face falls. " _One_ of the reasons?" he demands.

"If you fail in the first two stages, you have to accept a non-fatal wound, delivered by the arbiter of the challenge," I explain with a sigh. "It's meant as a punishment for failing, and it puts you at a disadvantage in the melee. If you're caught cheating at any of the stages, you're strung up and bled to death. And if you lose in the last stage, well..." Hunter raises an eyebrow expectantly. I shrug. "The only way to win is to not die. The melee goes until every member of one of the teams is dead."

Hunter grinds his teeth and gives me a look of deep, personal offence. "And you _volunteered_ me for this?!" he demands.

I shrug. "Yep," I say. "Didn't see much other choice, and it's not like you would have said no even if you'd known what it was. Come on, man. It's called a Blood Challenge and they're Gerudo. What did you think it was going to be? Tea and cupcakes and a firm but loving chat?"

"Goddess I hate you sometimes," he mutters. "This was seriously the best plan you could come up with?"

"Do you honestly think I would have done it if I could have thought of something better?" I demand, irate. "It buys us time, all right. If you're such a genius, use that time to come up with something better."

"Don't exactly have a lot to work with here," he responds, running a hand through his hair in a less-than-happy fashion. "And I don't think there's going to be a lot of reasoning with or manipulating these people."

"Eh," I say with a shrug, eyeing Apheri as she approaches us from across the camp. "Don't rule it out just yet. Pay close attention to the way they interact – you're better at that stuff than me, but there are definitely cracks in this happy little family. We might be able to play on them – hello there. Can I help you?"

"Your bag," she says, holding it out. "Everything should be in there. Let me know if it's not and I'll find out who took it."

"Thanks," I say, and reach out to take the bag, but before I can she drops it to the ground, grabs my wrist and twists it behind my back hard enough to make me gasp. She drives her foot into the back of my knees and forces me down onto the ground. I hear Hunter drawing his sword. "Hunter, stop!" I say, wincing as Apheri twists my arm further. "Apheri...I'm going to say this as politely as I can under the circumstances... _what_ the _Hell_?"

"I just wanted to let you know, _your highness_ ," she snaps, her voice low and pitched so the others can't hear her, "that if I find out you've killed Rue, or harmed our younglings in any way, shape, or form, I will gladly bleed out for violating the Challenge just for the pleasure of killing you."

"Thanks for the warning," I grunt. "Rue was alive and kicking last time I saw her, and the only harm I've ever brought to the younglings was keeping them up well past their bedtime because what's the point of being King if you can't give a little girl permission to stay up late once in a while?"

"I'm not joking," Apheri says, and I let the joviality disappear from my face.

"I know you're not," I answer her. "And if it makes you feel better, I share the sentiment. I would happily bleed out for them too."

She snorts derisively and shoves me roughly, but releases me and gets to her feet again, moving back to the crowd of watching Gerudo, all of whom give her a wide berth.

"What was that about?" Hunter demands, offering me a hand up.

"Two things, I think," I answer, getting to my feet and brushing myself off. "One, she's legitimately worried about how much I know about the Gerudo, when as far as she's concerned, I'm an outsider. Two, it was a display of dominance. I think between Lierana, Nobernal and me, she lost a bit of her grip on her authority there. She had to prove that she's still in charge."

Hunter looks thoughtful. "Like the alpha male of a wolf pack," he notes, casting a second glance around at the Gerudo.

"Exactly like a wolf-pack," I confirm with a nod.

Hunter doesn't quite smile, but there's a familiar glint in his eye that will do well enough under the circumstances. "Maybe there _is_ something we can do after all. We'll need to see more, though. Make sure we're putting pressure in the right places."

I gesture at the sputtering funeral pyre, almost entirely embers now. "We'll get our chance," I say. "From the sound of what Feran was telling us, we're at least a couple days away from Misery Mire. Keep your eyes open and we'll see what we see."

Hunter nods, then looks down at the bag at our feet. He kicks it over to me and offers me a ragged grin. "It's still your turn to carry the bag, by the way."

***

Much later the same afternoon, Hunter nudges me and gestures up at the sky. The sun is definitely on a downward arc. It's not quite twilight yet, but it will be within the hour, and I suppose I'd better fess up to my _condition_ now and get whatever fight it's going to cause out of the way. I heave a disgruntled sigh and pull away from Hunter, veering over to where Apheri walks. It's worth noting, I think, that she walks alone, separate from the others. It's hard to tell whether it's her choice or theirs.

"Hey, Apheri," I call, jogging up to her and falling into step. "I need to—"

"How do you know about the Blood Challenges?" she interrupts me, apparently not caring in the slightest about anything I might actually want to say.

"Can I tell you _after_ I explain why I came over here?" I ask.

"No," she answers, and frowns at me.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. I know because after I woke up from the Maeasm poison – which was how they were able to tell I wasn't making things up and I was, in fact, a Gerudo – one of the first things they put me through was a crash course on Gerudo history and culture. That included Blood Challenges. Also, I mean, honestly, how many of your stories and legends end with Blood Challenges? Nina earned her place on the White with a Blood Challenge. Amiera challenged her own lover – who, I would like to point out as a throw back to our earlier argument, was _not_ Gerudo, but still took part in the Challenge. Faleen, who challenged her own King and was struck down by the Goddess for violating the terms of the Covenant. I'm not sure how I could have _not_ learned about Blood Challenges."

She gives me a disturbed look and I frown at her. "Keep questioning it," I tell her derisively. "Just keep fighting it. You know I shouldn't know about those legends, let alone anything else. You know I wouldn't have found out about Gerudo lore through torture. Who interrogates someone about their legends? The only way I could know those is if a Gerudo willingly told me."

"I'm not—"

"How old is Ganon?" I demand bluntly, then answer my own question before she can. "One hundred and twenty one years old. Guess how old I am?"

"Twenty one?" she ventures with an unimpressed frown.

"And a _half_ ," I add. "My mother was Natalia of the Gerudo. She's a legend too now, or would be if her friend hadn't stepped in to save her life."

"I suppose I remind you of her?" Apheri snaps angrily.

I give her an affronted look. "Listen," I say, "if I _was_ making this up, do you honestly think I would try something so cliché? Do you _really_ think I know so little about the Gerudo that I would attempt to appeal to you on an emotional or sentimental level? Really?" I raise an eyebrow at her and she snorts. "I assure you," I add, perhaps unwisely, "you _don't_ remind me of my mother. Honestly? You're nothing like her. _She_ was hard and strong and brilliant. She knew who she was, and she knew what she wanted – for herself and her people – and with one exception, everything she ever did, she did for her sisters. Not like you."

Apheri comes to a dead stop and turns on her heel to face me. There is a storm in her face to rival the worst typhoons in the rainy season. "I suggest you say directly what you mean to say," she snaps, the words brittle and cold. "I don't appreciate the insinuation."

I turn to glare straight at her, uncaring in the face of her anger. I should shut up. I _know_ I should shut up. But blah blah Dark World blah blah anger management issues blah blah screw it. "I'm saying you're a coward," I say bluntly, never breaking her gaze. "In fact I'm saying you're _all_ cowards here – and you've forgotten who you are, if you ever knew it. You fight and you squabble and you compete for power and authority. You rely on archaic mechanisms like Blood Challenges to resolve your issues because you've forgotten what it means to be sisters – to be _Gerudo._ " My face hardens and my own Gerudo pride rears its ugly head. "My mother was Gerudo. You're just a mangy dog in a pretty uniform."

Apheri's face is twisted with more rage than you would think a mortal frame could contain – like, I'm talking Beast level rage. She's practically purple with it, and her hands are flexing and unflexing as she attempts to reign it in. "If I didn't have orders...," she manages, sounding strangled.

I snort contemptuously. "If you didn't have orders you could do a lot of things. But the swine you call King isn't about to stop issuing them, so I guess maybe you should just tuck your tail back between your legs where it belongs. Oh!" I say before she can lunge at me. I point at the sun. "Also, before I forget, when the sun goes down I turn into a ferocious, murderous beast, unless he—" I point at Hunter, "—hands me a mirror to look at and holds a bag over my head. Then I turn into a pink, hyperventilating rabbit. I recommend you let me take the rabbit route. I'll turn back at sun rise."

"You are _insane_ ," Apheri manages, still purple, but now with an almost comical perplexed expression.

"No," I answer, "just stupid sometimes. I'm serious about the rabbit thing. Actually, I'm serious about everything. And I'm looking forward to meeting this Ciardi of yours, by the way. It would be nice to meet an _actual_ Gerudo. Here's hoping I'm not disappointed."

I turn and walk back toward Hunter before she can respond or decide I've pushed her far enough that it's worth violating the Challenge to slit my throat.

Hunter is staring at me incredulously when I return.

"What the Hell did you do?" he says angrily. "What did you say to her?"

I shrug at him. "I told her about the beast," I say. I would like to point out that this isn't a lie.

Hunter is unimpressed. "People don't turn that shade of purple without provocation, Link. You provoked her."

"She provoked me," I return defensively.

"How?" he demands, crossing his arms with a severe frown.

"She's all...she doesn't...she just..." I flail inarticulately. "I don't like her, okay?! She's irritating!"

Hunter puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes me, just a bit. "Link," he says, deadly serious. "I'm begging you. Please, _please_ don't get us killed. _Please_."

"I'm not going to get us killed," I tell him, irritated. "At least not like this. What's wrong with you?"

His eyes darken and he shakes his head. "Have you seen the way these women look at us, Link? It's not just the usual Gerudo friendliness, okay? It's uglier. They hate us. They hate us in a way the Gerudo back home never did. Do you know why?"

"Because we're in the Dark World?" I point out.

He shakes his head again. "That's part of it, playing into it, I'm sure, but it's more than that. Look at these women, Link. Look at their ages. Look at how they got here. Look at _when_ they got here. I know you have a brain in there somewhere. _Think_ about it."

I frown at him. "They've been here at least seventeen years," I said. "Since Ganon tried to grab the Triforce."

"Right," Hunter says. "And what was happening seventeen years ago? When these people left Hyrule, what was going on?"

" War?" I venture, and blink. "Oh. Oh I think I get it."

"Right," Hunter says. "The Great War. And for these women, _it never ended_ , okay? Hyrule's been at peace for a decade or two, but these women haven't. We're not just outsiders to them, Link. We're the enemy. And not just because you're a Hero and I'm Impa's nephew. Because I'm a Sheikah and you're a Sheikah and neither of us are Gerudo, as far as they're concerned."

"Well...fair enough, but why does that matter?" I demand. "They're going to hate us no matter what war they think they're still fighting. Between being half-wolf, and being in the Dark World, and being Gerudo, and being Ganon's puppets, I imagine they're a bit cranky and it's not exactly something the can be fixed with a nap, is it?"

"Just don't push them," Hunter says. "Let sleeping dogs lie or some other appropriate metaphor."

"It's not that simple," I say, shaking my head grimly. "I _have_ to push them. The only thing saving our bacon right now, besides the terms of the Challenge, is that I think Apheri might _actually_ be willing to believe I'm King if I keep at her. And one of the ways I can prove it is by pushing. All. The. Time. That's how they work. If I back down, if I go easy, if I lay off...they'll _never_ believe I'm King, _and_ they'll think I'm weak, and that doesn't end well for us either."

Hunter squeezes the bridge of his nose between his hands and heaves a very long sigh, as though a slow exhale can expel the general unpleasantness of the whole situation. "I _hate_ Gerudo politics," he says at last. "Why can't you people just scheme and manoeuvre and stab each other in the back like _normal_ people?"

"We do," I tell him with a shrug. "Just...more directly than you're used to, and usually more literally. Look, just...do the Sheikah thing, all right? Eavesdrop. Spy. Gather info. Don't hand me this bull about not understanding Gerudo politics. You've spent enough time at the fortress and with Neesha. You know more about Gerudo culture and relationships than any full blooded Sheikah has a right to know. These women would _die_ if they knew how much exposure you've had to it."

"What info?" Hunter demands.

"Anything!" I say. "Get me their names. Maybe I know some of them. Who likes who? Who doesn't? Apheri's a loner; she's got no second – if she dies, who takes over? What do they think of me saying I'm King? What do they think of Nobernal? Of Ciardi? Of the Challenge? Everything, Hunter. Anything. I don't know."

He continues to stare at me, but his eyes are distant as he considers it. "It won't be much," he says slowly, but he's not talking to me. "Just what I can overhear. Most of it will be inference or assumption. It won't be ideal."

"Hunter," I say dully, "ideal is sort of a moot point right now, don't you think?"

He shakes his head. "I'll do what I can," he says. "What will you do?"

"What I always do," I say, and throw him a grin with too many teeth. "Provoke them."

He gives me a depressed look, too weary to be horrified. "I hate you."

"I know."

***

By noon the next day the rain starts. By the next morning I give up any hope of it ever stopping. "We'll be at the Mire by noon," Apheri informs us perfunctorily. "It's another day of travel from there to the fort."

One of the full wolves walks by us and shakes her coat vigorously on her way, spraying us with muddy water. Hunter takes it without a word, doesn't even acknowledge the slight – it's only about the tenth time one of them has done it to us. He's falling back on his Very Sheikah Habits in the face of such Incredibly Non-Sheikan Behaviour. When in doubt, take the moral high ground. Stiff upper lip and all that. Bunch of martyrs the Sheikah.

For my part, I meet the wolf's stare directly and show her my teeth. She responds in kind and walks away with a sniff.

Insane. They are driving me insane.

I miss _my_ Gerudo.

"So," I say to Hunter in a low voice as I futilely scrape mud from the toe of my boot onto a nearby rock. "We're running out of time. What have we got?"

"Not much," he says, wiping water out of his face as we continue to move, though at a slower pace than the women ahead of us. I could go for a pair of bestial legs right now. My feet keep getting sucked down into the mud and the effort of continuing to move forward is tiring. And we're not even _at_ the Mire yet. "You were right about Apheri being a loner. She never stands with the others. Doesn't sit at their fires. I think it's a mutual decision – she's rejected them as much as they've rejected her. They follow her because she has authority and because she backs it up viciously, not because they actually like or respect her. But she has to fight for it. They make her fight for it. They're challenging her in little ways all the time."

"Is it the wolf-parts thing?" I ask.

He nods. "I think that's a big part of it. The more wolf in them, the more prestige they seem to have. Particularly around the head. Wolf ears are definitely worth more than a wolf's hand, for example. Wolf teeth are a big deal. Wolf eyes are the biggest deal, but if you look at all their eyes, that seems to be the slowest part to change. Over time they get a little more wolf-like, right? Well, each part of them that changes into something wolf-like turns their eyes a little more gold, and a little less human. How gold their eyes are matters the most."

"So Apheri's got a bottom-half that's wolf, but everything above it's human, so..."

"So no prestige," Hunter says. "Or very little compared to everyone else here. Also, I think...," and he hesitates. I raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. "I'm not...entirely sure, but I think she might be fighting the change. Some of the others make the occasional back-handed comment, and she reacts most strongly to those around the suggestion that she's not changing because she's weak, or because she's afraid. She fights the accusations with violence, not words, so I don't know what the reasons might be, but she's resisting the change. I _think_."

I throw Apheri's retreating back a thoughtful look. "Really?" I say. "Now _that_ is an interesting bit of trivia. If she's fighting the Dark World...hmm," I murmur to myself. "Maybe she's more Gerudo than I thought. What else?"

"Lierana fills the same kind of role that Jinni used to fill, but with a lot less blind traditionalism, and a lot more mindful maliciousness. She's the lead naysayer in the group, and she's got a few followers among them – you can see them sitting around her fire. The others are neutral – they'll side with Apheri or Lierana, whoever best suits their interests. But they're more afraid of Apheri than Lierana."

"Do we know anything about Ciardi?" I ask.

"Ciardi is their leader – unquestionably. The kind of politics and backbiting going on here don't seem to be around Ciardi at all. I think she's maybe Ganondorf's favourite, and I've heard some whispering about Ciardi and Nobernal, but nothing I could actually make out without giving away the fact that I was eavesdropping. Ciardi's not a woman to be trifled with. They're afraid of her. I mean terrified. Even those who might be considering challenging Apheri for leadership here are afraid of how Ciardi might react. But there's a few that are saying Ciardi's favour is shifting to Lierana. It's making Apheri’s challengers bolder."

"Anything else?" I ask.

"Yeah," Hunter says dully, "they're all _really_ looking forward to watching us bleed all over the place at the Challenge. They're actually starting to get excited about it."

"Oh good," I say, and clap him on the shoulder. "Then let's make sure we give them a show."

"Please tell me that means you have a plan," Hunter says.

"Hell no," I say with a snort. "My _plan_ is to give them a show. You know, we might not lose, right?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "A little faith is maybe justified. We're not exactly _unskilled_ , are we? I mean, archery and mounted combat? Sort of my specialties. Hell, I can do them _at the same time_. And that hunk of metal on your waist isn't just for decoration, is it?"

"Yes, I've considered that," he agrees, but then counters me – because he _always_ has to counter me: "but have _you_ considered the fact that archery and mounted combat are _also_ Gerudo specialties? Or how about the fact that I haven't exactly seen any horses around here, so we don't even know what it is we'll be mounting? Or how about the fact that all of these women have pumped up, supernatural, magic-based enhancements to their strength and speed, which were already pretty damn good _without_ the Dark World's help? This isn't a straight up competition, Link."

"You're depressing me," I accuse him flatly. "Stop depressing me."

"No," he responds mercilessly. "In fact, I'm going to _keep_ depressing. You're _also_ assuming Ciardi will even acknowledge your Challenge. She's not allowed to kill us, Link. At least not me. Your buddy needs me to keep his bloody portals open. And I'm sure he'd much rather kill you himself. So how are you supposed to have a Blood Challenge with no blood?"

"Do you have any idea how much you can bleed before you die?" I ask him.

"K," he says, "no. Just shut up." He looks around and lowers his voice. "We could always _try_ running."

I make a face at him. "Right," I say, "because they're not going to be able to hunt us down in three seconds flat."

"The rain here will kill our scent," he argues, "and it's not like we'd be leaving tracks when everything's half bog already."

"It's their home turf," I point out. "They'd find us. Besides," I add, cutting across his arguments with a gesture, "there are seven maidens, right? And seven Sentinels. And unless I miss my guess, each Sentinel guards a maiden somewhere in their territory."

"You're saying there's a maiden here?" Hunter asks, and looks like he wishes he was dead.

"There almost has to be," I say. "And if Ciardi's Ganon's favourite, like you say, and is working with Nobernal, a Sentinel, then I'd say I could make a fair guess where we'll find her."

"Or him," Hunter points out. "Goron-Link's gotta be around here somewhere. And on his behalf, as well as my own, I would like to ask you, once again, to stop calling us maidens."

"I didn't assign the name," I say with a shrug. "And I did protest when it came up. But no one listens to me."

"So," Hunter says, routing us unfailingly back to the main topic, "you're saying there's a maiden-in-a-non-feminine sense somewhere in that swamp."

"Yes."

"And you're saying that you think Ciardi probably has him or her, and probably knows where he or she is."

"Yes."

"So...even if we do run and even if we do get away, we just have to come back again later."

"Right," I confirm. " _Without_ an armed escort and a VIP invitation into their camp."

Hunter shakes his head and frowns. "We're dead no matter how you slice it," he says, frustrated. "Goddess. How the Hell are we ever going to get out of this, Link?"

"I don't know," I answer him honestly.

We exchange a look and continue on our way, shoulders hunched against the rain and the future.

***

The Gerudo camp is situated at the eye of the perpetual storm that is Misery Mire. It's not exactly sunny, not by a long shot, but it's not pouring either, and it's almost enough to make me drop to the soggy ground and kiss it. My equally soggy 'companions' sneer at our obvious relief at being out of the storm, and I stick my tongue out at them because oh my Goddess if it never rains again I would be _so happy_.

"I am wet," Hunter tells me, as though this wasn't obvious. "I am wet, and I am cold, and I am tired. I want to go home."

"Are you whining?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes," he responds crankily. "Unequivocally."

"Well…stop."

"Why?" he demands and frowns at me. "You do it all the time. How come you're the only one allowed to be petulant? Share the wealth. It's your turn to cheer _me_ up for once."

"Cheer you up?" I say dully, and gesture broadly to encompass the entirety of our situation. "Here. In an old-school Gerudo camp, in the Dark World, when we're on the cusp of a Blood Challenge? For real? You're really going to ask me that?"

"You're not being very supportive," Hunter notes unappreciatively.

"No," I agree whole heartedly, "I'm not. I'm wet and cold and cranky too."

"Wonderful," Hunter mutters, then rolls his eyes and starts into the camp. I follow behind him and survey our pleasant hosts. It's a typical Gerudo outpost on the surface, minus the levees that keep the surrounding mire from infiltrating what is probably the driest spot in the whole damn swamp. Simple, rudimentary buildings here and there, but mostly things are organized in large tents (I don't bother trying to figure out where they found the leather…I doubt I'd like the answer much), laid out in what appears to be a less-than-logical arrangement, but what I know is actually designed with defence of the camp in mind. On the surface, there's nothing unusual at all about the camp, in fact.

What bothers me is that after more than a decade of living here, they haven't bothered to build anything more than this. This shouldn't be an outpost, it should be a fort. Granted building materials may be hard to find, but still….

They really haven't moved on.

Apheri leads us toward the centre of the camp, and by the time we arrive we've collected quite a group of curious followers. I assume they expected us bound in iron and tied to the back of someone's horse, not armed and free, strolling in as if we were invited. Which we technically were, even if I did invite myself.

As I look around I realize something else, in line with Hunter's earlier observations. Most of the women here are mostly wolf. Arms and faces, legs and snouts, ears and teeth and eyes. Apheri is the most humanoid of the lot. She carries herself with her head high, her pride fierce and determined, but it's easy to see that the image is maintained by sheer force of will and little else. The other women are still afraid of her, but they don't respect her, and she knows it.

The centre of the camp is clear in a wide ring – evidently an arena of some kind. For sparring and training and killing each other. At the back of it is a large black tent, with the Gerudo symbol painted carelessly on the side in bright red. "Gee," Hunter says dryly, "I wonder whose tent that is."

"Ah megalomaniacs," I muse with mock affection. "Always have to be special."

"Do not speak," Apheri tells us, and I'm under the impression that it's actually meant as a not-unfriendly warning, "unless you are spoken to. Ciardi has a temper and she will not take kindly to your stories, or, I suspect, your challenge."

"It's not a—" I start to insist, but draw up in surprise the instant we enter the tent. Hunter hisses an oath beside me and stumbles back into Lierana, who's following us in.

Sitting at the back of the tent, at the end of a long table is the woman who can only be Ciardi. She's dressed in white, but wears her hair long in a brazen (completely illegal) claim to leadership. Her face is as hard as ice, and her eyes are as cold as it. They glitter with authority and power and malice. But she's not what causes us to panic and reach for our weapons.

Crouched at her side, like a cat, is Nobernal, still wearing the expression of hatred and pain she wore when we saw her last. " _You_!" she shrieks, and starts her feet, snapping her wings angrily, but Ciardi places a hand on her arm and pulls her effortlessly back down.

"Nobernal," she coos gently, "remember what we spoke of." She strokes the corrupted makani's head as though she was an animal, and much to my surprise, Nobernal lets her.

"I hate him," Nobernal hisses, and even though she has no eyes I have the distinct and unpleasant impression that she's staring right at me. There's a catch in her voice, not unlike someone who's been crying. "I hate him I hate him I hate him."

"Shhh, I know, pet," Ciardi says. "I know." It occurs to me that there is nothing wolf like about her, but her eyes are as gold as the hunk of pyrite that cursed this land decades ago. And her authority is absolute. Old-school indeed.

Oh yes. This is going to be fun.

"Ciardi," Apheri says, bowing quickly. "I've brought the Maiden and the Hero here, as you ordered."

Ciardi arches an unforgiving brow and I suddenly feel the overwhelming desire to punch her. Really hard. "Did you?" she says, fingers still idly stroking Nobernal's head. "I could be wrong, but I'm sure I ordered them brought to me in _chains_. Is that not what I said, Lierana?"

"I believe it was," Lierana says, smirking broadly. Now I want to punch _her_ , and she's actually in striking distance. Something of it must be in evidence on my face, though, because Hunter nudges me in that preternatural way of his. I sulk.

I wish Neesha was here.

She never stops me from doing something stupid.

"Ah," Apheri says, "the circumstances were somewhat…unique. This was easier and more effective in the end."

"Hmm," says Ciardi, clearly unimpressed, "and since when do Gerudo care about easier?"

"When it keeps half your women from dying in needless combat with an otherwise accommodating target?" I throw in incredulously. "What kind of commander _are_ you?"

"Tch," says Hunter under his breath. "Forty-five seconds. That's fifteen longer than I gave you."

I ignore that, because honestly I'm surprised he gave me thirty.

Ciardi fixes her glacial stare on me and I meet it with my customary fire, snorting contemptuously at her. Lierana and Apheri both stiffen beside me. The latter gives me a briefly mournful look that I've seen a million times before. It's the one that says, _I tried to warn you_.

Ciardi gets to her feet, and Nobernal half-follows her before she remembers that she's supposed to stay seated. She freezes halfway, and it would be comical if it weren't for the fact she's a being of corrupted divine powers beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. She could probably rip me in half _from there_. So no. It's not really funny.

It's actually kind of sad.

I think of Anduriel, with her wilted wings but her quiet strength, and wonder what could have possibly brought one of those creatures so low as this…to play lapdog for a Gerudo as corrupted as this realm.

"Nice ponytail," I say with a sneer. "Shame it's not yours to wear. Cut it off now and maybe I won't feel the need to do anything about it."

Ciardi still says nothing, standing with her back straight, and her hands tense, as though uncertain whether to curl them into fists or out into claws. Her face remains as stone, but in her eyes I can see a sudden fire. I've insulted her terribly and she's trying to decide how to deal with it.

"Apheri," she says finally, "what are these unique circumstances?"

Apheri clears her throat nervously. "He has, ah…he's issued a Blood Challenge, Ciardi. To you. He has named the Sheikah as his second."

"Sheikah can't participate in a Blood Challenge," Ciardi says.

"Oh my Goddess!" I cry, annoyed, startling them all. "Yes they can! You people don't even know your own rules! They just can't _issue_ the damned things!"

"Neither can a Hylian," Ciardi snaps.

"Don't," Apheri whispers beside me. "Don't. Don't. Don't."

"I'm not a Hylian," I respond darkly and Apheri hisses. "In fact, it's probably the _only_ thing I'm not."

"He knows what he's doing," Hunter tells Apheri, though he sounds more like he's trying to convince himself.

"Oh? Another Sheikah then?" She turns away dismissively. "You still can't issue a challenge."

"I'm a Gerudo," I say, and gesture to take in my general not-a-girl-ness. "And all that comes with it."

_That_ gets a reaction.

"You _dare_?!" she cries, whirling around again and taking two steps forward, her eyes ablaze. "You dare! There is only one Gerudo King and you are in _his_ realm, before _his_ servants!"

"K, first off," I say dully, "there are _two_ Gerudo Kings. I'm the good one. And second off, this isn't his realm, it's his goddess damned _prison_ , do you understand? He's a criminal. He's a monster. He's a greedy, hideous pig and I swear to Nayru that if I get the chance I'm going to kill him for real this time."

Nobernal straightens eagerly as Ciardi chokes momentarily on her rage. She's waiting for a kill command, I can _see_ it. My sword hand twitches, but I resist the urge to draw. Not yet. Let her be the first one.

I shoot Hunter a look that clearly says I'm sorry for whatever follows and he gives me one that says he wishes he'd made good on his old promise to steal my sword, go back in time, and kill my parents before they could spawn me.

"I'm going to give you one chance to do the right thing," I tell the livid Gerudo. "Forswear your allegiance to Ganondorf, swear your service to me – the _rightful_ King of the Gerudo – and cut your hair. Rejoin your true sisters, and recognize the leadership of Nabooru, the _only_ Elite allowed to wear that haircut."

She makes her decision and abruptly the blaze in her eyes dulls down to embers. She snorts and draws her sword. "Fool," she says, and comes at me in a run. She has no intentions of killing me, she just needs to reassert her position as the one in charge in front of her subordinates, and to remind me of just how much power she has over my life right now. But she's missed two things in her assessment of the situation:

  1. I'm better than she thinks I am.
  2. Winning this fight has jack to do with beating her physically. I'm looking to make a point, not win a fist fight.



She comes in at me and I wait until the last possible moment to move. She thinks I'm trying to duck so she twists to follow – but I'm not ducking. I'm drawing a boot knife. And as I come back up, at the same time as she's following me down, I have just enough time to get my fingers wrapped in her ponytail and rip the knife right through her hair.

I couldn't have done it better if Time had slowed down.

Her ponytail comes off in a complete chunk in my hand, still held together by the leather strap that once held it up.

The move isn't free – her sabre tears a good strip out of my side – but it is _so_ worth it.

She comes to a stop with a gasp as her unspeakably short hair suddenly tumbles down free around her face. Ciardi and Lierana are wearing identical faces, looking like startled fish. Their eyes and mouths are perfect Os of surprise, quickly turning to horror. I finish my move by jumping up on the table and holding the ponytail out, smirking with every ounce of defiance I have in me.

"I did give you a chance," I say.

Ciardi whirls around, her expression frightening enough that for the briefest of moments I feel a bit of the rabbit take hold of my heart, and she's not even done giving the order before something – Nobernal, has to be Nobernal – slams into my back and everything goes black.


	23. Seeker of the Wind

#  **Chapter 22 and Interlude**

##  **Chapter 22**

"I think I have a concussion." It hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe. I suddenly wish I hadn't woken up.

"I _know_ you have a concussion," Hunter replies in a tight voice. "I know you have a concussion, because you've been smashed in the head too many times in too short a period to _not_ have a concussion. By all rights, you should be dead. But apparently that thick skull of yours is good for more than just picking fights with Gerudo Queens and crazy Makani."

I wince – and not just because of amazing amounts of pain rolling into my newly aware mind. "You're mad at me," I note. I try to point at him in an accusatory fashion, but even the attempt at motion causes impressive waves of agony to break across my brain and I can suddenly see all sorts of pretty colours. I don't try moving again.

Man. I need to never turn my back on Nobernal again.

"Why would you think that?" Hunter asks sharply, blue-green eyes narrowed and livid, not an ounce of sympathy in them for my apparently incredibly battered state. "Because you've gotten us in so deep over our heads here I don't think we'll ever see daylight again? Because that bloody Makani broke one of your arms and a few of your ribs beating you long after you'd stopped moving? Or maybe it's because I'm the one who had to carry you back here, to this dirty little tent in the middle of a place called Misery Mire and pray you woke up at all, preferably before the sun set? And now that the sun _is_ setting and you _are_ awake, I get to spend the rest of the night huddled in here, by myself, surrounded by my people's ancient enemy who are _just a little riled up_ because a certain leader of theirs is walking around with a _completely unnecessary_ new hair cut." He snorts and turns to our bags. "No, Link. I'm not mad at you. Not at all."

"Hunter," I say stiffly, "it's not like I—"

"Here." He shoves Sahasrahla's magic mirror into my good hand and tosses the rabbit-sack at me negligently. "The sun's setting. We can talk later."

I wince again.

Wow.

He's really mad at me.

I stare at him for a moment, then finally sigh and turn my eyes back to the mirror. I take minor comfort in the fact that my broken arm is actually set, and somebody's rubbed salve onto and bandaged the wound Ciardi gave me when I cut her hair. He can't _totally_ hate me.

"Link," Hunter says quietly, without looking at me, just as I feel the transformation start, "Ciardi accepted your Blood Challenge. There's some ceremony to take place in the ring tomorrow."

I want to respond, but the Beast's face fills the mirror, and everything is lost in an ocean of fear.

***

When I wake up the next morning, I'm alone in the tent. This causes me no small amount of alarm, as I somehow don't see Hunter willingly taking a stroll out among the Dark World Gerudo camp all by himself, nor would I encourage him to do so. I shake myself free of the rabbit-bag and straighten, but my panic recedes instantly when the tent flap opens and Hunter steps inside.

"Sorry," he says, and pauses in the door. "I meant to be back before sunrise, but I ran into some complications."

"Complications?" I ask, struggling to resist the urge to twitch my nose. Goddess I hate the mornings. I rub it vigorously with my sleeve instead, trying to drive the rabbit out of it.

"I'll explain in a sec," he says. He turns around, ostensibly to fasten the tent flaps closed again, but he doesn't do it quite fast enough to hide the awkwardness on his face. "Do you remember anything that happened after Nobernal attacked you?" The question sounds casual, but he doesn't meet my gaze and I know him better than that. I know what he's hoping for, and since I feel guilty about dragging him into this at all, I attempt to give it to him.

I snort. "I don't even remember Nobernal attacking me," I tell him. "I remember saying 'I _did_ give you a chance', and then I remember the floor rushing up to meet my face, and then that's about it."

He offers me a small, uncertain smile as he stops pretending to care about the tent flaps and turns back toward me. "You're not a very good liar," he tells me.

I shrug. "That's why I've got you," I say, giving up the pretence immediately. "Still mad at me?"

"I think I live in a perpetual state of mad at you," Hunter says with an easy grin that is one part forgiveness, one part apology. "Technically speaking I'm never _not_ mad at you. But I am currently no more mad at you than I usually am. I might even be just a little bit sorry for snapping at an invalid like that."

"Invalid!" I protest.

The grin fades from his face and I see something of what caused him to be so mad at me in the first place. I realize with a start it wasn't anger, but fear. "You didn't see yourself, Link," he tells me softly. "You weren't even awake long enough to understand just how massacred you were. Nobernal...Nobernal did a number on you. I was...I wasn't actually expecting you to wake up at all. I kept praying the sun would set so you would heal before whatever massive internal bleeding you had going on could kill you." He shakes his head and scowls against the memory.

I shift my weight and stare at him. "I'm...sorry," I say, and I mean it. "I wouldn't...I didn't mean to put you through that. I was pretty sure they wouldn't kill us because Ganon needs you too much and he and I have that whole nemesis thing going on. Guess I underestimated Nobernal's...um...control."

"Yeah," Hunter says softly, and the remembered fear in his eyes frightens me in turn. "Big time."

"But," I add quickly, "I had to do it. Ciardi would never have accepted the Blood Challenge if I didn't give her a reason to. I had to make it personal, you see? And I couldn't...I'll admit I didn't think it all the way through, but it was just a golden opportunity and outside of me getting turned into a punching bag, it worked out perfectly. She accepted my Challenge, right? That's what I wanted – she wouldn't have otherwise. She'd have nothing to gain by it. You understand?"

"I do," he admits and comes and drops into a seat beside me, dragging the backpack over to look for breakfast. "I didn't at first, but I thought about it after and I get it. It's why I'm not mad at you anymore. It's also," he adds, sticking a ration in his mouth and speaking around it as he digs for a second piece, "why I went out super early this morning to find you a present."

"A present?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Is it food? I'll accept it if it's food because this dried crap is crap."

"It's not food," Hunter says with a wry grin, handing me a bundle of dried crap to eat.

"Oh," I say, disappointed.

"I think you'll like it anyway," he notes, and reaches into one of the six thousand hidden pockets he has in his uniform. When he pulls his hand out again, along with it comes a thick, somewhat frizzy, Gerudo-red ponytail.

I drop my dried crap into my lap and snatch the chunk of hair right out of his hand, staring at it in shock. "Nayru, Farore and Din!" I gasp. "Hunter, is this what I think it is?"

"It wasn't easy to get," he tells me. "Sneaking any where’s out of the question given they all have heightened senses, and I don't smell anything like a Gerudo. They all know I'm coming long before I get there. But...I managed it." He gives a shrug that is meant to be humble, but means he is actually delightfully full of himself.

I don't bother ruining his moment. "You are totally my favourite," I say. "Completely. Without equal in this world or the other."

He nods as though this was the obvious conclusion all along and he's just been waiting for me to smarten up and realize it. "Just remember to tell Neesha that when we get her back," he tells me.

"No," I say flatly. "She'll hit me. Your preferential status is strictly between you and me. Now help me figure out how to use this for the absolute maximum impact. Should I wear it like a tail? Tie it into my own hair? Wear it like a necklace? It's probably not long enough for a necklace. A bracelet maybe? What would be more offensive?"

"You're such a child," Hunter says, but he's grinning broadly.

The tent flap flies open suddenly and Hunter snatches the ponytail out of my hand and hides it away before I'm fully aware that he's done it.

I greet our visitor with a dull look. "I see you people don't know how to knock anymore than the Gerudo back home do," I say with a snort.

Apheri snorts back at me. "You're wanted at the ring," she says flatly. "Hope you found a third." She turns and leaves without saying another word.

I turn to Hunter and flash my teeth at him. "Come on," I say, "I'll fill you in on the ceremony on the way. Let's go offend some Gerudo sensibilities."

***

I think the whole freaking camp has turned out for this.

Makes sense, I suppose. They probably haven't had a show like this in years. They howl and jeer as Hunter and I step into the empty ring, but unless my ears deceive me there's at least a howl or two that's not meant as an insult. Word about Ciardi's hair must have spread already. We've earned ourselves a couple fans – that is to say people who will cheer twice as hard for us as we die. Hunter, naturally, doesn't react either way. I offer the crowd of feral women a florid bow, and take the opportunity to flash the shiny new ponytail I've fastened to my belt.

There's a sudden uproar when they see it. First a general, startled gasp. Then a few women laugh, harshly. A few others howl or snarl. More than a few of the wolves bark. But I've made my point and it's been received.

"You know," I muse conversationally, "there are worse ways to go than hacked to pieces by a bunch of scantily clad desert women."

Hunter's eye twitches, just a bit at the corner. "No," he assures me, "there's not."

"Enough!" calls a strong voice from the back of the ring. The gathered Gerudo immediately shut up, falling still and silent as Ciardi storms through them, into the ring. What remains of her red hair hangs down around her ears, and the women around us either stare intently at it, or struggle to stare somewhere else. A few sets of golden eyes move from the ponytail at my waist to the lack of one on her head. Ciardi either doesn't care or does a decent job pretending not to.

Nobernal creeps along behind her, like a sulky shadow, at once fearful and hate-filled. Her eyes are on Hunter and I, but every now and then she looks back at Ciardi and a disturbing mix of worship and love crosses her face.

Lierana and Apheri stand at Ciardi's other side. They don't look at each other. Apheri stares straight ahead; Lierana watches Ciardi but pretends she's not. The tension between the two is almost _visible_.

"I will have order in my camp."

Ciardi is as glacial as she was when we met her yesterday, having regained her previous composure. This ceremony is a formality – everyone knows the Challenge is accepted – but a necessary one. This is where we bluster and pose and threaten. This is where we state our case and try to win over supporters. This is where we set the stakes and conditions that will govern the Challenge.

We each need to project an image, here. Sell a version of ourselves to the spectators.

Ciardi sweeps her eyes over the gathered Gerudo, taking the time to make them all feel like they've been looked at, like they've been judged. It's a blatant reminder of her authority – it's a strange gesture, given that I'm the only one here who technically needs to be reminded of that, and I'm suddenly blinded by a startling realization.

This Challenge means nothing to me. It's a means to buy time – either for Hunter and I to come up with an escape plan , or to find the maiden imprisoned here, or for Destiny to take the decision out of my hands. But it doesn't mean nothing to Ciardi. And it doesn't mean nothing to the Gerudo here.

This Challenge isn't about what either of us wants. It's about leadership. It's about loyalty. It's about who these women follow.

Ciardi's not afraid I'll take leadership from her, but I _can_ do some irreparable damage to her claim to it. I already have. The ponytail fastened to my belt was a bigger blow to her than I thought it was – it's caused others to doubt her strength, and once doubt sets in other challenges will come, like they do for Apheri. Small at first, leading to bigger and bigger until one day you've lost it all.

I thought I was hitting Ciardi's pride, striking at her dignity. I thought I was demonstrating my disrespect. I thought it was personal. I failed to take into account the effect doing so would have on this group of Gerudo.

This pack of wolves.

Ciardi's inability to exert authority over me is casting doubt over her right to exert authority at all. She has to win this Challenge to win it back. She has to defeat me, publicly. She has to make me submit.

I meet her icy golden eyes and feel the beginning of a grin that has just a little bit of the beast in it.

This is going to be, at once, harder _and_ easier than I thought.

Ciardi's pose, naturally, is that of the cool, collected overlord. Ponytail or no ponytail, she is the leader of these women, these Gerudo. She is strong, she is fierce, she is proud. And it's very clear to everyone assembled that she means to kill me. Brutally. Her stance says she's in control, has been from the start. The choice of Nobernal standing behind her was a good one. If she can control a Makani she's obviously strong enough to lead the pack.

I had been planning to stick to the King shtick, continue to stubbornly insist that I am what I am and hope the shock value doesn't wear off too soon. I cast that aside almost instantly when I realize the game we're _actually_ playing. These women care about who their King is the same way a thirsty man cares about what he drinks. Sure, he'd kill for a glass of wine, but he'll take whatever you can give him. I don't need to keep insisting I'm King. My mistake coming in here was making a play for protocol, appealing to the rules.

This is the Dark World.

The rules went out the door a long time ago.

I let a little more of the Beast loose and my grin widens as I chuckle lowly, derisively. "Nice hair," I say. Hunter elbows me sharply, the gathered Gerudo exhale a startled hiss, and for the briefest of moments Ciardi's frozen eyes catch fire, like they did yesterday. It's gone the next moment, though, and she remains composed and in control.

This whole thing is about control.

"It will grow back," she says flatly. "Your head will not." But despite the harsh round of chuckling that works its way through the Gerudo ranks, the mood is suddenly different, the playing field a little more even. Her grip isn't as strong as she thinks. My defiance is eating away at it already. Now all I have to do is stay alive long enough to keep being defiant.

I unfurl my grin into a full-blown smile, complete with too many teeth. "I doubt you could get to it," I tell her. "Unless you want to have your little pet there attack me from behind again. I have to admit, I was expecting better of you. The other women at the Fortress like to tell me stories about their lost sisters. About how awesome they were, how skilled, and fierce and proud. How brave. Shame I'm going to have to go home and tell them what I found was a bunch of cowards, cheating their way out of a real fight."

There's a surprised murmur from around the ring. That little detail obviously hadn't made it out of Apheri’s tent yesterday. She probably let everyone think she'd busted me up herself.

She's not unaware of the talk. Her scowl settles so deep into her face I doubt it'll ever come out again. "Enough bluster," she says angrily, wisely choosing to ignore my bait and end phase 1 of the ceremony. "I will hear your Blood Challenge, little boy, if you still dare to speak it."

Fine by me. "You have a crystal here," I say. "In your care. It contains a person. I issue a Blood Challenge for their freedom and safety, as well as my own and Hunter's. I have only one condition – that I see the crystal before you accept."

"You question our honour?" Ciardi demands coldly.

"I question _yours_ ," I return angrily. "For reasons I've already made clear. You're honour bound to meet my condition. Do you refuse?"

She growls at me, but waves a hand. Two women peel off from the crowd and move to a nearby tent. It's smaller than the others, barely big enough to fit two people standing up, and covered in ceremonial decorations. The women pull back the flaps hiding its contents and I blink in surprise.

The crystal that had contained Hunter had been small, worn around Blind's neck. But this crystal is huge – big enough to display its contents in life-size proportions.

"Who is—," Hunter starts to say, but then chokes and does a double-take.

"Neesha," I breathe, a unique blend of relief and fear mingling in my gut – for a moment the rabbit threatens to run the beast right out of my chest. I start to reach out to her, then catch myself doing it and lower my hand. Can't show weakness now. Not in front of this many Gerudo. But...seeing her...knowing she's okay...it's a big deal.

But she's not really okay.

Not yet.

"Is she wearing _make-up_?" Hunter manages, sounding strangled. So much for his Very Sheikan Habits.

"Not the time, Hunter," I mutter under my breath as I turn back to Ciardi.

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Satisfied?"

"Horrified more like," I tell her with a dark scowl. "I knew you'd have fallen, I knew the Dark World would have corrupted you, but far enough you'd imprison one of your sisters like this?" The collected Gerudo blink in surprise and turn to look at the crystal again, but Ciardi gestures quickly and the women holding the flaps open allow them to fall shut again. I don't release Ciardi's gaze, and something in my own hardens. "Afraid they'll see the truth?" I ask coldly.

The tent flaps don't phase some of them – there's more than a few dark faces around the ring now, and foremost among them...

"She's one of ours?" Apheri demands, eyes narrowed suddenly. "That girl is Gerudo?"

"Of course not," Ciardi snaps angrily, turning her icy glare on Apheri, who shrinks back and lowers her eyes, though the sudden, bitter twist of her lips doesn't fade. It's a small gesture, Ciardi turning away from me, but it does worlds to help my cause. It's an unexpected acknowledgement that I'm not her only threat, which erodes her support even more. I need to keep pushing. "What Gerudo would dress like that?"

"Look closer," I say flatly, addressing Apheri directly now, ignoring Ciardi as insignificant. "Her face, her eyes, her hair. Her skin. She's Gerudo. Neesha of the Red to be exact."

"Too young to be a red," Ciardi points out, turning back to me. There are embers under the ice in her eyes. "Your story has more holes by the second."

"Youngest ever, as a matter of fact," I tell her. "Named to the red after obtaining an artefact from the ruins of the Spirit Temple, right from under the nose of the witches Koume and Kotake. Named to the red as the only Gerudo at the time the new Gerudo King – born a hundred years after Ganondorf – would trust at his side."

"New Gerudo King," Ciardi scoffs. "You, I assume?"

"Me," I confirm. "And for what it's worth, the girl in that crystal is ten times the Gerudo you'll ever be."

"Enough," Ciardi shouts, quelling the sudden uproar from the crowd and attempting to bring their attention back to the situation at hand. "Your condition has been met. Do you issue the Challenge?"

"I do," I say, without hesitation, flexing my hands eagerly. "A hundred times over I do."

"Then I accept," Ciardi responds. "I make no conditions because I don't need them. If I win, I win. And that's all there is to it." Damn. I was hoping she'd make the condition that I had to submit to her before I died. That would have automatically meant that she acknowledged she doesn't currently have authority over me. Guess she's smart enough for that, at least. "Declare your second."

"Hunter of the Sheikah," I say immediately. "Declare yours."

"Lierana of the Gerudo," she says, and there's a startled gasp from the assembled Gerudo – Neesha is immediately forgotten in this unexpected political twist. Apheri's face is like a stone and she refuses to react. Hunter whistles lowly beside me.

"Kiss of death," he says for my ears only. "Ciardi's picked a new favourite."

"Declare your third," Ciardi says.

"Neesha of the Gerudo," I answer immediately, and point at the tent hiding her crystal once more. Hunter sucks in his breath and holds it. "Let her out. She'll respect the terms of the Blood Challenge."

"No," Ciardi says immediately. "Bad enough I allow that one," and she gestures negligently at Hunter, "to continue to be free. I will not willingly free a second maiden. Choose another."

I stare her down for a long moment, testing the limits of her resolve on this.

Unfortunately for me, it's strong. I don't think she'll bend.

Goddess forbid Neesha get out and start proving just how Gerudo she is.

"Fine," I say. I turn to look at Apheri, who's staring at Neesha's tent with the barest of frowns playing across her face – perhaps wishing herself that she could speak to the dark-skinned redhead trapped within – Neesha of the Gerudo, or a Malon with a tan? "Apheri," I say. She blinks in surprise and turns to look at me. For a second our eyes meet and I engage in my second staring contest in as many minutes. She goes from startled to offended to pensive in a matter of seconds as she realizes who I'm about to choose as my third.

She turns to look at Lierana, standing smugly beside Ciardi – probably hasn't paid attention to anything that's happened since she was chosen. Apheri scowls at her, then turns to look at Nobernal, skulking behind Ciardi like an animal, or less than. A once mighty Sentinel, reduced to a personal lap dog. She looks out over the gathered Gerudo, searching for support, but finding none. Ciardi's abandonment is complete.

Finally she turns to look at Neesha's tent again, and her face hardens.

Gotta do it now, before she changes her mind. "Apheri of the Gerudo," I say, louder. "Apheri of the White. Will you be my third?"

"You can name me without asking," she notes. "I cannot refuse."

"Which is why I ask before I name," I respond. "Apheri of the White. Will you be my third?"

She hesitates, but only a moment. Something of that mysterious fourth layer I mentioned before blows briefly through her eyes – for a moment the gold seeping into her irises almost seems to recede – before disappearing again.

"Yes," she says, and crosses the ring, much to the shock of everyone gathered. "I will be your third."

"Apheri is my third," I say, turning back to Ciardi who is doing a good job of trying to not look surprised. "Declare yours."

"The only reason I'm doing this is to kill Lierana," Apheri informs us under her breath as she joins us, her face saying quite clearly that her life is ruined anyway, so she has no problems throwing it away now.

"The only reason _I'm_ doing this is to not get killed," Hunter tells her, his face saying quite clearly that his life is also ruined, but he'd like to keep it anyway, thankyouverymuch. "Welcome to the team."

Ciardi's face splits into a broad smirk that is nothing short of mean, and my gut twists unpleasantly. I realize a half-second before she says it who she's going to pick and any smugness I may have felt about 'winning' the opening ceremony turns to ash in my mouth.

"Nobernal of the Sentinels," says Ciardi.

The gathered Gerudo erupt into a sudden riot of noise, and I feel like the ground has suddenly dropped out from under me. Why – _why_ – didn't I see that coming?

"Well," Hunter says grimly as Apheri's shoulders droop. "That's it. We're dead."

***

Hours later we're sitting in our tent and _still_ fighting over how to handle the situation now that it's once again spiralling out of our control.

"It's not the end of the world," I insist. "I've killed a Sentinel before, right?"

"No," Hunter corrects me angrily, his patience wearing entirely too thin, "the _Beast_ killed a Sentinel before. And you'll forgive me if I don't like the idea of you just letting it loose. We don't stand any better chance against the Beast if it turns on us, than we do Nobernal."

"I wouldn't let it loose!" I say, keeping myself from shouting only through a supreme effort of will. "I'm not an idiot!"

Hunter looks like there are many things he wants to say in response to that, but he chooses to remain silent because he is _passive-aggressive_. Instead he throws his hands up into the air and lets himself fall limply back onto the blankets.

"It doesn't matter," he says dismally. "We're so unspeakably screwed right now. Our opponents are two Dark World _Elite_ Gerudo and a corrupted Makani. Our only ally is _another_ Dark World Elite who hates our guts and probably wants us dead as badly as our enemies do. We have to beat these women at various forms of combat in which they specialize and have trained since they were old enough to lift the weapons in question. And the Makani is a _Makani_. I'll give that a minute to sink in, because I'm not getting the impression it has yet."

"That's for staying positive," I snap irritably.

He lifts his head to glare at me. "What do I have to be positive about?" he demands.

"We're alive," I try.

"For now," he returns dully

"We found Neesha."

"And we're going to die before we can get her out of that crystal."

"We're...we have...," I gesture inarticulately, trying to think of something else, something he won't have a comeback for. I come up with nothing. In lieu of a valid end to my sentence I grab the bag laying beside me in a fit of rage and hurl it across the tent.

"Link!" Hunter says, sitting up again. "What the Hell? You're going to break—!"

"Who cares?" I cut him off viciously, getting to my feet and storming over to the tent door. "We're dead anyway, right? That's what you keep saying."

He pulls back in surprise and I exit the tent in a huff.

I'm going to have to apologize for that later, but I just...

It's not fair of me to expect him to be positive right now. It's not fair of me to expect him to be the one who has to think of a way out of this, or to find the upsides. Maybe he's not as affected as I am by this realm, but he's still affected and that's not his fault anymore than it's mine.

I just...

I'm tired of never having any kind of hope.

I'm tired of not being able to find the upside.

I'm just tired.

There's a tent toward the centre of the camp, near the ring, that's vastly larger than the others – it appears to be sewn together from various tents, in fact, combining them all into one huge tent. I suspect – and the suspicion is confirmed when I pull back the door and enter – that it's a common hall of sorts, for the Gerudo to gather and relax, probably to eat and drink while they're at it. I head there instinctively, habit leading my feet to a gathering place for friends, even though I have no friends here except the one I just pissed off back at my own tent.

I should go back. We still don't have a decent plan of action, and this could very well be my last day of breathing. Or Hunter's. Or both of ours. I shouldn't be spending it looking for something I won't find anyway.

But I need to clear my head.

Maybe I can pick a fight with someone. Get some kind of outlet for this pent up restlessness.

I can smell food cooking somewhere at the back as soon as I enter – roasting meat – and my stomach growls, hungry for something with substance, but it takes everything I have just to eat our dried rations and pray they didn't used to be anything sentient. I have much less faith in these particular Gerudo. I'll skip the food.

A woman near the front – wolf arms and a tail, but Gerudo face – turns and scowls at me. "What are you doing here?" she demands. "You're not—"

I ignore her and push deeper into the tent, weaving my way through the Gerudo spread out on mats and at the odd table. There's a hundred pairs of eyes on me and the tent is suddenly a lot quieter than it was when I entered. It irritates me more than it should. I can feel the Beast in a distant way, lurking around the edges of my awareness, prowling restlessly. I noticed it at the acceptance ceremony earlier today, too.

Something about these women in large numbers riles the Beast up.

I pause in the centre of the room and grind my teeth.

"Last I checked," I say darkly, "the terms of the Blood Challenge mean I'm an honoured guest until the Challenge is complete." I throw a burning glare around the room. "You're all being terribly rude right now."

There's a moment of brittle silence, and then one of the women barks a laugh and turns back to her previous discussion. Within moments the rest of those gathered follow suit.

Despite the general unpleasantness of the company here, despite the Beast's restless pacing in my head... even though these aren't my Gerudo, and this isn't a desert, and instead of the ever-present, unforgiving wind I hear the ever-present unforgiving typhoon that rages around this camp...the simple familiarity of being in a common hall full of Gerudo women talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company soothes my jangled nerves to a ridiculous degree.

But, as all things in the Dark World, it's not without its pain. I close my eyes and waste a moment wishing I _was_ in the desert, and these _were_ my Gerudo. Any minute now, Amplissa would see me sitting alone and cutting my leever into fanciful shapes instead of eating it and she'd throw something at my head. Aliza would immediately start lecturing her in a horrified way about protocol and what you can and can't throw at the King, and I would feel the need to cut her off by throwing something at _her_ head. Probably one of my fanciful shapes. She would turn around _really_ slowly, burning with rage, and just stare at me. I would probably feel obligated to call her on.

I open my eyes and the camaraderie of the image fades, replaced with unfriendly golden stares, and Gerudo gone so feral they probably don't remember the sound of the desert wind.

These women are lost, and they don't even know it.

Something wet and hot strikes the back of my head, and I whip around, startled.

Apheri sits, slouched at a small, lopsided table in the back corner of the tent. In one hand, a recently emptied fork, in the other a crude mug she's holding in a death grip. I pull my hat from my head and shake it free of the meat she threw at me, then raise an eyebrow at her and approach.

"You could have just called me," I note.

"I was pretending it was a bomb," she tells me, an undeniable slur in her voice. She doesn't straighten, she doesn't even really focus on me. I would be surprised if she could. She's completely blitzed. "I was pretending it was a bomb and I was throwing it at you and it blew you up." She gives me a disgruntled look. "But it didn't."

"You're drunk," I say flatly.

It's not a question, but she answers it anyway. "Yes. I figured hey! Why not? It's not like I need discipline anymore. It's not like I have any dignity left to lose. Ciardi threw me aside like yesterday's meat. For...for _Lierana_ , who is—who is...a backstabber. She stabs backs." There are a plethora of emotions chasing each other across her face right now. Anger, betrayal, hurt, offence. "And then _you_ have to go and name me your third," she jabs the empty fork at me accusingly. "So whatever...whatever respect I had left in the eyes of these people...there wasn't much of it, but it's gone now too. Now I'm even more...I'm even more..."

I take a seat opposite her at the table and frown. "You agreed to be my third," I point out. "I didn't—."

"You're blonde," she cuts me off angrily, and it's definitely an accusation. She points unsteadily at my uncapped head with her empty fork. "Your hair is yellow."

"Good call, Captain Obvious," I answer with a roll of my eyes.

"You're all...you're all green." She gestures to encompass the rest of me.

"Can you count too?" I ask. "What are you getting at?"

It takes her a moment to remember. "You're _not_ Gerudo," she says finally. "Even your ears. Your ears...they're...they're all...pointy."

"I'm half-Sheikah," I tell her with a heavy sigh. "Pretty sure we've been over this. My mother was Natalia of the Gerudo. My father is Brayden of the Sheikah."

"Natalia," says Apheri, rolling the word around in her mouth as though trying to taste it. "Natalia. She was...she was our leader."

"Yes," I confirm, her unexpected recollection softening my irritation.

"It's so...hard to remember," she says, squinting her eyes and looking up at the ceiling. "So hard, now. Faces and...and names. I don't...I think I knew her. Sort of. She was...young, right?"

"Yes," I say, cocking my head and watching her closely. "She was. But she was strong. And she lived for her sisters."

"Yes," says Apheri, so quietly I almost don't hear her. "So did...a long time ago, I...I don't remember." She shakes her head and scowls. "I don't remember. The Dark World takes it from me so I won't...so I won't fight anymore, but I..." She shakes her head again and leans forward unexpectedly. I give a start, but she just cups her head in her hands and groans. "I should just give up," she says and she's definitely not talking to me anymore. "It's not worth holding onto. It hurts too much."

"Holding onto what?" I ask. "What are you holding onto?"

She doesn't answer. Just shakes her head and I realize with a violent start and no small amount of alarm that there are drops suddenly appearing on the table underneath her face.

Din's fire.

She's crying.

She's _crying_!

I immediately shift my chair to cut off the sight of her from the other Gerudo. If they see her like this they'll rip her to shreds. It's a small kindness, but the only one I have the liberty to offer. "Apheri," I say as gently as I can. "Apheri you need to pull it together, okay? You need...you can't let them see you like this." I stare at her desperately, waiting for some sign of acknowledgement. "Apheri, they don't deserve it. Don't give it to them. You're better than that. You're better than _them_."

She's still for a long moment, but finally she nods. She takes a deep, shaky breath and wipes her face surreptitiously as she straightens. I meet her bleary eyes and try to judge how together she actually has it.

The answer is not encouraging.

"Come on," I say, getting up. "Come back to the tent. Get away from the others. I left Hunter there. We can talk, okay?"

"I don't want to talk," she says. "I want to fight. I want to fight until I die."

"Plenty of time for that tomorrow," I note.

She snorts. "Not going to last long against Nobernal," she mutters, but she gets to her feet and follows me out, pausing only to viciously kick one of the full-wolves who snarls something as we walk by. I'm glad I don't understand the full wolves.

We walk back to the tent in silence, and at a slow pace given Apheri's stumbling. It looks like she's momentarily forgotten how to use her lupine legs. I don't offer to help her – it would only offend her, and I'm not too broken up about the pace. I need the time to think.

Most of the people I've met so far in the Dark World have been angry. I'm angry. Hunter's angry. These Gerudo are angry. Blind's men were angry. Even the followers of the Cleric were angry, in their messed up, repressive way. But I forgot that anger's not the only negative emotion in the Dark World's repertoire. And often it's a symptom of something deeper. Only the tip of the thorn in someone's paw.

Apheri's not angry, she's sad – I misread her from the start and I could kick myself for it now. She uses anger to hide it from the others. She pretends she's like them so they won't realize the truth. That's why she fights the transformation into a wolf, when the others around her embrace it. Becoming a wolf is their way of lashing out at what's happened to them, at their situation. It's a false path of action – lets them feel like they're doing something, let's them feed and indulge their rage, even though it doesn't actually get them anywhere better or improve their situation. They've given up on their old life, on Hyrule, and embraced what the Dark World has to offer. That is simultaneously their shame and their pride. Their damning salvation.

But Apheri...

She won't let go. She clings to what memories she has, clings to her old life, maybe even to the hope that someday things will be set right again and she can go home – that's why she was so upset with me, more upset with me than the others when I was throwing around Rue's name and directions to the nursery and talking about Gerudo life and history and culture. Because she remembers these things more clearly than the others. I brought all those memories back to the surface again, and each one of them was a knife for the Dark World to stab her with.

The Dark World takes her hope – that she'll be able to go home someday, that she can remember what it means to be Gerudo even as the Dark World whittles away at everything that _makes_ her Gerudo – and barbs it and wraps it around her so tightly she's going to bleed to death from it. Every memory she holds hurts her, in the same way my memories of Amplissa and Aliza and the others hurt me. All they do is highlight just how terrible your situation is now – and keep forever present in your mind the things you've lost.

All the Dark World has to offer is false hope. False hope that you can escape the wrath of Hell by joining it, giving into it and embracing it, as most of these women have done. False hope of release if you just hold out against it long enough, as Apheri keeps hoping.

It tricks you into thinking you've escaped it if you give into it, that if you willingly choose it, it no longer holds power over you. As though there's anything resembling a willing choice here.

It tricks you into thinking you're defying it if you hold out and continue to allow it to stab you with your own memories and hopes.

No matter what you do it gets what it wants. No matter what you do it can hurt you, twist you, corrupt you...until you can't remember who you were and you don't understand who you are.

It's already broken most of the Gerudo here.

It's breaking Apheri right in front of me.

I hate this place more than I've ever hated anything in my life. I can't let it have her. She's the only woman here who remembers her sisters back home, the only one who's resisted this long. _Seventeen years_ she's fought this war alone.

My mistake wasn't in thinking Apheri was angry. It wasn't in thinking she was just like the others.

My mistake was in thinking she was Ganondorf's.

She hasn't said anything about him, she hasn't expressed her opinion, but she doesn't have to.

She's not one of Ganon's.

She's one of mine.

And I won't let him _or_ his twisted prison have her.

"I'm not talking to you right now," Hunter informs me bluntly when I enter the tent. It's one of his code phrases for 'I recognize I've upset you but I don't think I actually did anything wrong so I'm not going to apologize but I'd really like this whole thing to be resolved.'

"Good," I tell him, "because I brought you a new best friend to take my place."

He straightens abruptly and turns to look as Apheri stumbles in. He blinks at her in surprise, his ire momentarily forgotten in the novelty of the sight before him. "Is she—?"

"Hammered," I confirm. "Found her at the common hall. She's a bit...I didn't want to leave her there."

"I didn't think Gerudo got drunk," he notes, moving away from the blankets and gesturing for her to have a seat.

"Not usually in front of Sheikah," I respond as she stumbles over there and drops down onto them. "But they can and do get drunk." I give him a dull look. "You know they're _people_ right? Like, with feelings and desires and opinions and stuff?"

He gives me a dry look in return. "You know, it had honestly escaped my notice. Entirely understandable given that it's not like I spend most of a year hanging out with one. And it's _certainly_ not like _she_ openly shares her opinions with everyone in a fifty foot radius."

"You're talking about the girl in the crystal," Apheri slurs at us, apparently more alert than I gave her credit for.

"I am," Hunter answers her, studying her closely. "Link was telling the truth about her. She's about as Gerudo as they come."

"Maybe a little more reckless than most of them," I point out. "She's got a bit of a temper—,"

"A bit," Hunter repeats, and snorts.

"—and we've probably been something of a terrible influence on her overall."

"You're talking too fast," Apheri complains, pressing her hand against her head.

I stare at her blankly for a moment, then shake my head. "What made you think it was a good idea to go out and drink yourself stupid?" I demand. "We have to do the Challenge tomorrow. You having a hangover is going to cost us."

"Do you even know how to shoot a bow?" she demands, irate.

"As a matter of fact, it's something of a specialty," I inform her, offended. "Gerudo trained."

"Right," she says. "You're King. I forgot."

"You believe him?" Hunter demands incredulously.

"No," Apheri responds with a violent shake of her head. "I just...I forgot he thinks he is." She turns back to me. "Who's leader now? You said before...in Ciardi's...in her tent, but I forget."

"Nabooru," I say. "She's also the Sage of Spirit."

"Nabooru," Apheri says, and I can see her struggling to remember. "Nabooru. Nabooru."

"She was my mother's friend, Natalia's friend," I say, jumping on the opportunity to fill in some of the gaps in her dwindling memory. "She took over when my mother left."

"I wasn't there for that," Apheri says. "I only...we heard through the King that Natalia had. She had betrayed us, I think. I think that's what he said."

"Where were you?" Hunter asks, not fully understanding the point behind this exchange, but recognizing it's somehow important.

"I was...getting ready," she said. "With the others. To—to come here. We were the King's chosen. The best of the Elite. We were going...we were going to get the Triforce for him. Help him get it. And then he would be...he wouldn't just be King of the Gerudo. Then he would be King of Everything. And we would be...we would be at his side. Lierana said. She said we would go to Hyrule. We would come back from the Golden Realm with the Triforce and we would go to Hyrule and we would end the war. I remember that. I remember that's what she said." Her face grows distant and far away, blanketed with an indescribable pain. When she finally speaks her voice is quiet and harsh. "She lied. They both did. Lierana and the King."

"Apheri—," I try, but she cuts me off.

"I don't remember what the desert sounds like," she says, and I realize she's crying again. Without sobs, without shaking, just tears. Hunter stiffens and abruptly turns his face away, attempting to respect her privacy in the cramped tent. I doubt she'd notice even if he kept looking. "I don't remember how it smells. I don't remember what the sand looks like when the wind blows it. I don't remember...the Covenant...how can I be...if I can't remember..."

"The Covenant?" Hunter asks and I stare at Apheri in shock.

For her to have forgotten the Covenant...

She blinks and stares at Hunter. "You don't know because you're Sheikah," she says. "You couldn't...tell me..."

"I can," I say immediately and Apheri turns to look at me, struggles to focus on my face.

"You can't," she corrects me. "You're not Gerudo."

"I am Gerudo," I insist. "I am a Son of the Wind. If you've forgotten the story I can tell it to you again. If you've forgotten the Covenant itself you can swear it to me again."

"Son of...," she says, hope flickering briefly in her eyes then dying again, abruptly – snuffed out mercilessly by the Dark World. She laughs, bitterly. "All right," she says, and it's plain she doesn't believe me, "tell me. Speak the Covenant. Tell me the tale. I am most interested to hear your version." I throw an awkward look at Hunter, but Apheri snorts. "Let him stay," she says. "He's as dead as we are tomorrow anyway. It's not like he can tell it to anyone."

"It's blasphemy," I note, raising an eyebrow. Hunter's face takes on a pained expression at the thought that there is a secret in this room right now and he might not be allowed to hear it. You can't tell a Sheikah you have a secret they don't. Doesn't sit well with them.

"If you're truly a Son of the Wind, she'll forgive you," Apheri says with a shrug. "She forgives her Sons everything, and her Daughters nothing. I remember that much."

Maybe so, but...it's probably one of the Gerudo's most sacred rules. If Rue ever found out...

I turn to Hunter and point at him. "Swear on our friendship that you will never breathe a word of any of this to anyone. They can never know you know."

He hesitates. "There are no secrets among Sheikah, Link," he says. "If I'm asked..."

I scowl and cross my arms, but a moment later I snap my fingers and reach into my pouch, digging around trying to find something I haven't pulled out in years. Nabooru gave it to me as a joke, a throwback to our interactions before Zelda sent me back and changed Time.

There may be no secrets among Sheikah...

But there are plenty of loopholes.

I pull out a small piece of paper, crinkled and worn around the edge, and hand it triumphantly to Hunter.

"What's this?" he asks curiously.

"An Honourary Membership to the Gerudo," I answer with a wide grin. "Signed by Nabooru and everything."

Hunter looks at it and laughs. "Why do you have this?" he demands. "You were born to them."

"Long story," I say, waving him off. "Will this let you swear, as an honourary member of the Gerudo, that you will hear this story as a Gerudo, and keep the story as a Gerudo? You won't tell anyone?"

Hunter considers it carefully, weighing what is no doubt a burning desire to obtain this secret piece of Gerudo history against the legal definition of his duties with the Sheikah. At last he nods and pockets the membership. "I swear it on our friendship."

Good enough for me.

I turn back to Apheri. "You want the whole story?" She nods silently to confirm. I throw them both a self-conscious look. "I'm not...the best story-teller. This probably won't be as good as it should be."

"Just tell it," Hunter says.

"Okay." I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I know the story off by heart – like any good Gerudo – but it's only really recited at formal events or special ceremonies. And typically I'm not the one who has to do it. All I have to do is sit there while they all re-swear the Covenant and then tell them I accept their oath. "So. In the Day that was the first, the peoples of Hyrule were born, lived, and died, still new in their skin, and the world still new in hers. These were the People that were the first – the Goron, Zora, and Hylians, though the names were not spoken, simply known in the heart. The Day that was the first was beautiful and safe, but soon Night fell, and the Peoples came to know the evil in their own hearts.

"The Peoples went to war. Not with the wind or the rain, nor with the beasts that shared their soil, as they had in the past, but with each other. Each with his neighbour, and his neighbour with theirs, until the whole of Hyrule burned with the heat of it, and the blood of the people stained the ground for the first time. And Hyrule wept for her lost children and weeps still today."

I risk my concentration to glance up at my audience. Hunter looks intrigued – there's nothing new here yet, but the wording will be different than the Sheikah's version of the early days of the world after the Goddess created it. Apheri has stopped crying. She's staring at me intently, taking in my words and whatever memories they resurrect. I clear my throat and continue.

"Soon, the People began to organize. Each with others like them. Soon they spoke the names in their heart and became the Goron and Zora and Hylians in word. The People learned to fight and to defend themselves. They learned to strike and take what they needed from others. And the wars continued, unabated. And many more were lost in the conflict.

"And then, came a prophet. Her name was Geru. She had lost her village in a battle. The bodies of her family lay like tears on the ground. She wept for them, even as her enemy closed in, and when she looked up and laid eyes on their killers, a fury swept over her, like a sandstorm in the Spirit Wastes. She took up the sword and slew them all and fled, mad, into the desert. And those who had known her said she was lost, for the desert was a place of wild magic and unbridled wind. Of sandstorms, and angry spirits, and ravaging beasts, and was no place for a mad woman on her own, with nothing but a sword.

"Geru knew these things, even lost in her rage. Geru went to the desert to seek her death, for she had no desire to live in the world as it was, and chose to credit no man with her life. Instead she would let the desert take her.

"She walked as long as she could, though the sun bore down on her and burned her skin dark. And when she fell, still she crawled, though the wind tore at her ears, until their fine points were worn away. And when she could no longer crawl, still she dragged herself across the sands, shedding her clothes and her things like a snake sheds its skin, until she could move no more. She lay in the sands, naked and dying, and prayed for the wind to take her life from her at last.

"But the wind did not.

"Instead it spoke. 'Geru,' said the wind, 'why have you come to this place? This is my heart, and no place for mortals.'"

"And Geru knew she spoke to a Goddess. 'Is this Nayru that speaks to me?' she asked. 'Come to say goodbye to Your sad creation?'

"And the wind laughed and said, 'I am not Nayru.'

"And Geru said, 'Farore, then! Come to tell me to be brave in my last moments. To not whimper when death takes me at last.'

"'Neither am I Farore,' said the wind.

"And Geru coughed, for her remaining time was short, and knew with a certainty to whom she spoke. 'Din, then,' she said, 'who gave me the fury to avenge my family and seek my death in the dunes.'

"But still the wind laughed. 'I am none of the Three, nor would I dare to claim I am Their equal in anyway. But I suppose the difference is beyond your mortal ken.'

"'Then to what do I speak?' Geru asked, fear coming upon her that the wind should speak so, and yet not be a Goddess. 'I would know who keeps me company in my dying moments.'

"'Who else but your killer?' asked the wind. 'For I am this desert, among other things. You lay in my sands, burned by my sun, whittled away by my wind. Why have you sought me out?'

"And Geru grew sore afraid. 'Desert wind!' she cried. 'I sought only death in your embrace! I thought you inanimate sand, and merciless sun! I knew not what you were!'

"'I am those things," the desert wind told her, 'and your presence offends me not, merely tempts my curiosity. Why have you sought your death here?'

"'All that I treasured in life is gone,' Geru explained. 'My husband. My home. My sons. They are dead. Slain by another, who was, in turn, slain by me. What have I left to live for?'

"'An interesting question,' said the desert wind, blowing now across her face, cooling her burning brow. 'But it does not answer mine. Have you truly come here to die? Or have you simply come here because where you were could offer you no reason to live? No purpose to dedicate your life to?'

"And Geru pondered the question. She had come to die, of that she was certain. Less certain was she of that resolve now that she was close to achieving it. What the desert wind suggested rang true. Better to have a reason to live, than to die for its lack. 'Could you give me such a purpose?' she asked.

"'I could,' the wind answered. 'But like all things, it comes at a price.'

"'I will pay it,' said Geru, her decision made. 'If I am able.'

"'You have already surrendered the trinkets of your past life. Your fine clothes and pale skin and pointed ears. You are Hylian no longer. It is this, and only this, that has allowed you to hear me. What have you left to give?'

"'Name something else,' Geru begged. 'Any price. Only name it and it is yours.'

"'Then I wish two things,' said the wind. 'If you give me the first, and prove me the second, I will give you a purpose.'

"'Name them!' cried Geru.

"'The first is a sacrifice. I wish for your sons.'

"And Geru was confused. 'My sons are dead,' she said mournfully. 'I cannot give them to you.'

"'Not those that have come and gone again,' said the wind, 'but those yet to come. You and your descendants shall bear no sons from now until the sea swallows the earth. In exchange, I will name you my daughter, and give you _my_ sons. Once in a wind's age I will send you a son, and him you will raise as your own and teach him to fight and survive and you will call him King. To him and no other will you bow, and I will take this as a sign that our Covenant is honoured.'"

"'Done,' said Geru.

"'The second, then, is a test,' said the wind. 'To prove you are strong. To prove you are brave. To prove you are wise. If you are none of these things, then the Covenant cannot be sworn, for you could not carry out your purpose.'

"'Test me!' cried Geru, though she could barely move. 'I shall pass!'

"'Then stand, Seeker of the Desert. Seeker of the Wind! Stand though my sun would burn you, my sand cut your flesh. Stand and face the desert. Stand and bridle the wind!'

"And Geru drove all thoughts of her home from her mind. And Geru drove all thoughts of her family from her mind. And Geru drove all thoughts of pain and despair and hunger from her mind.

"And Geru stood.

"And the sun beat down on her, and burned her skin darker yet. It set her hair on fire and left it embers. And her legs shook, and the heat scorched her, but still the sun could not make her fall.

"And the wind whipped the sand into knives and hurled them against her naked flesh. It lashed and cut her until she bled and the thirsty land drank eagerly where the red drops fell. But still the wind could not make her fall.

"And Geru faced the desert and screamed her defiance at it, and her respect. And with that scream she let go of everything she had been, and embraced everything she was, and at last was able to bridle the wind. And the Desert wind wept with joy for it had been waiting for someone worthy.

"'My purpose!' Geru cried. 'Strike the covenant oh desert wind, oh Goddess in the Sand! Tell me my purpose and you can have my sons from now until the sea swallows the earth!'

"'Your purpose,' said the bridled wind, 'is to take these lands and tame them. Claim them. They stand as a guardian before Hyrule, and once they are yours, so too will you. Until the seas claim the earth, you will stand here, in these sands, and keep all interlopers out.'

"'It is a grand purpose,' said Geru, satisfied. 'But I cannot on my own.'

"'Then find others,' the wind told her. 'If they swear the Covenant, if they abandon who they were, and give me their sons, and stand though the desert seeks to fell them, I will take their oaths. My sons will take their oaths. And they will be my children as you are.'

"And Geru rode the wind through Hyrule, and she found others who sought what she had, strong enough to seek the sands, wise enough to leave themselves behind, and brave enough to swear the Covenant. And so the Geru'do – the Sisters of Geru – were born and remain, to this day. And please," I add abruptly when Apheri opens her mouth to speak, "don't ask me how I know the Covenant. I already told you how I know the Covenant. And _you_ ," I say, pointing at Hunter, whose eyes are bright with the illicit knowledge, "swore on our friendship you wouldn't share the story. Don't forget."

"Oh my Goddess," he says, practically breathless with excitement. "The Gerudo origin myth! We'd always wondered—."

"It's not a myth," Apheri says suddenly, savagely, and Hunter blinks in surprise. "If it were, how is it we bear no sons? How is it once every hundred years a King is born to lead us?"

"I didn't mean to suggest it wasn't true," Hunter says carefully, nodding his head apologetically. "And it definitely does explain some of the more unique features of your race." He turns to me. "Is the Goddess in the Sand the woman in those statues? The ones at the Spirit Temple?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "That's Geru. She's sort of...her image is used in place of the Goddess in the Sands, because the Goddess has no image to speak of. She _is_ the desert. The sun, the wind, even the rainy season."

He nods thoughtfully and peers over at Apheri, as though seeing her for the first time. If I know him he's going to mull over this story for the next month and try to figure out how it plays into the identity of the Gerudo. He'll find plenty of connections.

The Covenant between Geru and the desert literally _defines_ what the Gerudo are. That was just the origin story, but there are other stories about Geru, there are sermons and lectures and massive debates about the meaning of all of them, and how they should be interpreted. It's the closest thing to organized religion the Gerudo have, and they take it very seriously.

I suspect, on many levels, that it's a big part of the reason why so many Gerudo followed me so willingly after I passed the Maeasm test. By that point they already felt Ganondorf had not been keeping up his end of the Covenant as a Son of the Wind. He had ordered the Gerudo to attack Hyrule, when under the terms of the Covenant they were to protect it from outside interlopers – not become its enemy, or get embroiled in internal affairs. He had lived his hundred years and stretched them out unnaturally, stealing more time than was his. He had abused the Gerudo people, as individuals and as a race, and they could do nothing to defend themselves, because whether he held up his end of the Covenant or not, they intended to hold up theirs, and that meant they had to call him King and bow to him and no other.

No other until I let myself get stung by a Maeasm and survived.

It wasn't even about me.

All I was, was a convenient excuse for them to drop a King they hated like a hot rock, _without_ violating the Covenant. They probably figured I'd be easily controlled, too.

Silly Gerudo.

Speaking of silly Gerudo, Apheri is staring at me like I've grown two heads. "That was," she says very slowly, "accurate, though I don't...trust...my memory."

I give her a look that is gentle in its own way. "Should I recap all the things I shouldn't know but do, now?" I ask her. "Or is Geru's story enough to convince you that I'm telling the truth?"

She stares at me for a long time, her eyes moving over all the very-not-Gerudo pieces of me, until at last they come to settle on my eyes. She meets my gaze without challenge or denial and explores it. I recognize the gesture. Other Gerudo have done this to me, too. I don't know what they're looking for, but they always seem to find it.

I cross my metaphorical fingers and pray that Apheri is no different.

"Speak the Covenant," she says at last, her voice hoarse. "Speak the Covenant and I will swear it again. If you are not...if you are not what you say then the Goddess will strike me down for bowing to any but a Son of the Wind."

"Seeker of the Desert," I say with more gravity and seriousness than I can usually muster for anything, "Will you swear your life to me, the Son of the Wind?"

She hesitates, but only for a moment. "I will."

"Seeker of the Wind, will you swear your spirit to me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will," she says again, firmer this time.

"Seeker of the Sands, will you swear your sons to me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will."

"Seeker of the Sun, will you stand forever guard over these lands, and bow to none but me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will," she says again, and I can't help it. Despite the seriousness of these ceremony, I grin broadly at her.

"Then I accept your oaths on behalf of the Goddess in the Sands. As the Son of the Wind, I name you Geru'do. Now bow, and seal the Covenant."

Apheri climbs unsteadily to her feet – I gesture surreptitiously at Hunter when he moves as though to help her. He can't help her with this. Every Gerudo has to stand under her own power, that's part of it.

Mind you, most of them don't get drunk until _after_ the ceremony.

Hunter watches, fascinated, as Apheri stands at last and meets my eyes again, then slowly, deeply, she bows. She remains down for a good thirty seconds before I find myself grinning again.

"You're still standing, "I note. "No one struck you down yet."

"I don't understand," she says, straightening and looking genuinely perplexed. "You are...you _must be_...but you..."

"I'm Gerudo King," I tell her insistently. "I am. My mother was forced to flee the Fortress before I was even born – technically she was kidnapped – and she was murdered by an agent of Ganon when I was only three. The Kokiri of the Lost Woods took me in, and a Sheikah posing as a Hylian raised me after that. Ganon wanted me dead, you see? I couldn't go back to the Fortress. I didn't even know I was Gerudo until I was seventeen. That's when I went back. It was the first time I'd been there in this timeline. That's why I'm not very Gerudo on the surface. I wasn't raised by the Gerudo. I was raised by everything but."

"Then," said Apheri, dropping back to a seated position, "we failed in our duty. Geru swore that we would raise the Sons of the Wind."

"No," I correct her, " _Ganon_ failed in his duty. Ganon violated the Covenant. It was Ganon's fault my mother had to leave, and his fault she died before she could raise me. It was his fault she couldn't take me back to the Fortress."

Apheri squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "This is...a lot to take in... If you _are_ the King..."

"I am," I say. "I am the King."

"You...are the King," she says, and it's not a question this time. "I...see that now. But I..." She trails off and I feel a sudden stab of sympathy for her. The Gerudo back home had had weeks to figure out amongst themselves what my existence meant in terms of their laws and lives. Weeks to adjust to the idea that there could be two Kings, and that one of them could actually, finally be openly considered a traitor to his own people. And they had had each other to help work it through.

Apheri has no one.

And she's got the rest of today and tonight to figure it out.

"Listen," I say, "you need to think this through. Hunter and I have some business back at the common hall, anyway. You stay here and get yourself sorted out, all right? We'll be back before sun down." She nods without really looking at me, still lost in her own world.

"What business do we have in the common hall?" Hunter demands as we leave the tent.

"What business do we ever have in a common hall?" I ask, and no matter how hard I try to stamp it down, something of the Beast stirs in my smile. It hasn't left me alone since I went in there. It wants to go back, and as loathe as I am to give it anything it wants, I think for once it's actually right. "We're going to go raise some Hell."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Hell," Brayden said under his breath. It felt good so he said it again. " _Hell_. Hell and damnation!"

Moblins.

Moblins who were mages.

Moblins who were mages in Hyrule Castletown.

And there were more of them.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately not to think of Kakariko. The Gerudo would be...they might be okay. They wouldn't be expecting it, but the Gerudo were ever prepared for anything, and they were nestled snug in their Fortress in the desert. That was their place of power. Nothing could touch them there.

He chose to believe that because the alternative wasn't funny.

But Kakariko...

There were so many civilians...

_Impa will know_ , he told himself, taking a deep breath. _She'd have to. She's the Sage of Shadow. Cheap cloaks don't work on her._

But Impa should have checked in with him already hours ago, and she hadn't.

Impa was never late.

Never.

"Everything's fine," he growled at himself. "They're fine. _We're_ the ones in trouble. We're the ones who need help."

"Yeah, but not the only ones," said a soft voice from his side.

Brayden sighed and turned around. "Girls, I already told you no, all right? I want to warn them too. Desperately. But I can't. Look around. I can't afford to give up the few fighters I've got who know what they're doing."

The twins did as he asked and their faces were grim. All around them people sat or lay on the dirty ground, clutching wounds and wounded. Peasants and merchants and servants. They'd done a tally earlier of who was left who had any kind of actual martial training. The numbers had not been good. The Moblins had picked off the fighters first in the battle in the market.

"We can't just let them do the same thing in Kakariko," Mel said, and looked dangerously close to crying for a moment. "Dad's there. Dune's there."

"It's out of our hands," Brayden said gently. "We'll just have to have faith that Dune and your father know what they're doing, all right? Every Sheikah in Hyrule is stationed in Kakariko right now, and the Gorons are with them. They can protect themselves. How's the boy doing?" he asked before they could respond, hoping to distract them.

"Better," said Bel. "We didn't have enough potion left after treating the most seriously injured to get him back up to full speed, but he's not so blue anymore, and his fever's finally broke. He's still a little nauseous, but I think he'll be okay in a day or two." Her face fell. "Assuming he doesn't die because he's away from the Lost Woods."

"He's a tough kid," said Brayden, and offered them a tired smile. "We're talking about the boy who bullied Link, remember? Link's not exactly easy to bully."

He was surprised by how much talking about Link – even as offhandedly as that – still drained him. The only good thing about the mess he was in was that it took all his energy just staying afloat and keeping everyone around him from drowning. No time left over to think about Link and the others and worry about where they were or if they'd be coming back.

"I don't want him to die," said Mel. "He left to come warn us. He came here to save us. He's just a kid."

"We'll get him home," Brayden assured her, doing his best to hide the fact that he was pretty sure he was lying. "He won't die." He waited until they looked at him and nodded to acknowledge what he'd said. "Good. Now, can you go get Renaud? I need to talk to him."

They nodded again and turned to weave their way back through the ragged remains of Eldrick's supporters. Brayden watched them go and exhaled slowly.

He hated leadership positions. Hated them with a passion. He wasn't cut out for it.

It was taking everything he had to keep his temper in check and his rapidly flagging confidence from crashing through the ground and taking him with it. Negative thoughts circled around in his head, waiting for a weak moment like now, when he was alone and didn't have to pretend that he knew what he was doing.

_Bruiser,_ he thought desperately, _damn you for dying. I need you._

Castletown had been Bruiser's assignment. Castletown had been what Bruiser was good at. Most Sheikah would have slipped into the castle guard, or posed as a noble's servant, or otherwise stayed near the upper echelons of Hylian nobility. Most people believed that that's where the most good could be done, that that's where the most danger lay. They believed that the shakers and movers were there.

And they weren't wrong.

But Bruiser had always done things his own way and anyone who wanted to tell him to do it differently could go to Hell. He'd opened his archery shop, no matter how many people told him it was a useless cover, and proceeded to make friends with every other merchant in the market. And then with their employees. And then with his customers and theirs. And before anyone could blink, Bruiser – great, hairy, blunt brute that he was – suddenly had the meat hooks he called hands on the pulse of _everything_ that was happening in Hyrule. The tailor across the street worked for no less than three of the major noble houses in Hyrule and was an incorrigible gossip. The guards paid for by the nobles often stopped in at the Archery Shop and talked to Bruiser about how much they hated their jobs and their employers and their shifts. The nobles themselves would come down to the market to browse and be seen by the common folk.

The market, not the Golden Palace, was the heart of Castletown. It was the nexus for all the people who lived there. It was the only place in the city where everyone, regardless of station, was not only welcome, but required to come. Bruiser could not have picked a better spot.

Bruiser was the best Sheikah to ever cover Castletown. He knew more about what was happening in the city than any other Sheikah before him had. He'd spent years building up his networks and working his magic behind the scenes to keep things humming and peaceful. He was a master at it. A word here, a rumour there, and things stayed nice and normal.

And Brayden had done nothing since he'd died but screw it all up.

_Sorry big guy,_ he thought mournfully to himself. _Guess that's why you were always dad's favourite._

"You sent for me?"

Brayden blinked and looked up. He hadn't even noticed Renaud approaching. "Sorry," he said quickly, forcing his brain back onto a useful track. "Lost in thought. I did, yes. How's Eldrick?"

Renaud threw a casual look over his shoulder to the back corner of the room where the younger Eldrick sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his face buried in them. He looked smaller and more vulnerable than Brayden ever thought he'd see him. Not like a noble at all. Just a boy who'd lost his father before he was ready. "I'm not sure what you're expecting," Renaud said. "It's only been a day since his father died. These things take time to heal."

"Time we don't have," Brayden noted as gently as he could. "For better or worse the Eldricks' positioned themselves as the only thing standing between Hyrule and Agahnim's followers. If we're going to actually accomplish anything here—."

"Just what is it you think we can accomplish?" Renaud demanded, interrupting him. "We have a handful of battered fighters, a group of frightened civilians, and a single frost bitten Kokiri. Our enemy is an established group of nobles with a standing army of spell-casting Moblins at their beck and call. Brayden...be realistic, man."

"Would you have us abandon Castletown?" Brayden answered him angrily. "Seriously? Just give up and surrender the centre of Hyrule? Do you have any idea what would happen if we did that?"

"We might survive to fight another day?" Renaud suggested dryly.

Brayden scowled darkly at him. "Wow," he said, unable to keep the acid from his voice. "Been away from the Caverns too long, I see. First and foremost, if we lose Castletown—"

"We've _lost_ Castletown," Renaud insisted.

And that was it.

For twenty-four hours Brayden had kept his temper. He'd listened to Bel and Mel fight with Renaud over whether to send a messenger to Kakariko about the Moblins. He'd stared around the room at the helpless, hopeless expressions on the people there. He'd watched Renaud all but ignore Eldrick, no matter how much the young man might need him, or how much Brayden might need the young man, because Renaud was grieving too and wasn't an active Sheikah anymore and no longer had to put the needs of the many above his own. No longer had to care about Hyrule and what happened to it. No longer had to do anything what whatever he wanted because he had chosen to step out of the line of duty.

But Brayden didn't have that luxury.

Brayden couldn't care about his own needs. Brayden couldn't care about his son and his nephew and his adopted daughter, because Brayden was a Sheikah and had to care about Hyrule.

He didn't have the option of grieving.

He had a Goddess-damned job to do and he was going to Goddess-damned-well do it.

He stared at Renaud for a stunned moment, and finally, at long last, he snapped. He jumped to his feet and clenched his fists. "We've lost nothing but one battle!" he bellowed, and as easily as that his temper was loose. "It doesn't matter if we can't take it back right now! We need to hold it! We need to make it cost them! If we hand Castletown to them on a Goddess-damned platter, we hand them Hyrule with it! _First and foremost_ ," he started again, oblivious to the stunned looks of the people around him, "Castletown is a symbol for everything Hyrule is! It's the political centre, the power centre, the cultural centre, the trade centre for the Kingdom as a whole! If we lose it the blow to morale at all the other points in Hyrule where people are fighting to keep it safe from the outside would be incalculable! Secondly, and more practically, we _can't_ let the Moblins get a foothold on the inside of our borders! Let them throw themselves at the Gerudo in the desert, and Zora at Lake Hylia, and the Sheikah and Gorons in the mountains! Let them! They won't break those lines! Not unless we give up here and let them establish a foothold in Castletown to attack our allies from behind! Is that what you want? You want to just hand them over to the Moblins?" His nostrils flared and he clenched and unclenched his fists. "Then you can go to Hell because I'll die first! I'll hold this city by myself if I have to!"

Renaud had gone pale, staring at him in shock. Brayden simply stood where he was, jaw clenched, chest heaving, head pounding.

He hadn't meant to lose his temper.

Hadn't wanted to lose his temper.

But _Farore_ that had felt good.

"Lord Eldrick," he said abruptly, turning to the boy who had finally looked up from his knees at the outburst. His face was haggard, his eyes swollen and red, but something stirred in them, some piece of the certainty and arrogance that came with knowing you had been born to lead. "Your father started this fight. Someone. Has. To finish it." Some of his anger bled from him and he felt older than he had in some time. "Please. We can't lose Castletown. We can't just give it to them for free."

There was a collective holding of breath as all those gathered in the dingy stone sewers stared at the young Lord Eldrick – waiting to see what he'd say. Waiting to see what he'd do. _Only eighteen,_ Brayden realized. _Only eighteen. Barely older than Neesha. When are we going to stop putting the weight of our world on our children?_

Eldrick sensed their stares, saw their stares. He looked around, blinking, as though he'd just woken up. Slowly, painfully slowly, that little piece of arrogance behind his eyes began to crystallize, began to harden and become stone. Renaud watched him, face hard and unforgiving, but expectant.

The Lord Dorian of the House of Eldrick, now Head of the House of Eldrick, pushed himself slowly to his feet against the cold stone wall at his back. "Give me a sword," he said hoarsely. "If they want Castletown they'll pay for it first."

Brayden released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as a ragged, almost pathetic cheer went up from those gathered, earnest for all its lack of strength.

_Gold plated,_ he thought gratefully, thinking of the Eldricks' ostentatious gate, _but steel underneath._ He blinked as someone pulled on one of the bandages wrapped around his arm. He looked down and met the incredibly serious – and just a little frightened – looking face of a perpetually-eleven-year-old boy.

"Sir," said Mido of the Lost Woods, "I want to help, sir."

"Want to...," repeated Brayden stunned. He dropped to his knees as Eldrick began to address the crowd, allowing himself a better view of the boy's face. "What do you mean?"

"The Deku Tree Sprout, sir. He said...he said I had to extend my protection from the Lost Woods to all of Hyrule. He said that you guys have always protected us and now we had to pay you back. He said that. He told me that. I want to help."

"Mido—"

"Let me take your message," he insisted before Brayden could speak. "It's my mission anyway. It's my message. I know who the generals are. I know who the sages are. I can tell them. It was my mission."

"It's...very generous of you," said Brayden gently, "but it's a very long trip, and it's a hard winter. It'll be dangerous, and you're very, very young still. I can't...I couldn't send a child..."

"Sometimes little things make a big difference," said Mido stubbornly. "The Deku Tree Sprout told me that too."

Brayden stared at him for a long moment, then looked up at Renaud, who frowned thoughtfully. "If we find him a good coat and boots...maybe a pony or a mule...Brayden, it's safer on the roads right now, even in the dead of winter, than it is here in Castletown. And we can't get him home, but maybe someone in Kakariko can."

Brayden turned back to Mido who gave him the biggest set of puppy-dog eyes he'd ever seen his life.

"All right," he said at last, and prayed to all three Goddesses that he wasn't getting the kid killed. "All right. Let's go find you a kit."

Mido nodded and kept his Kokiri Knight face on, but on the inside he was suddenly shaking.

He wondered, silently, if he'd ever see the Lost Woods again...

***

Hell had opened up and swallowed Gerudo Fortress.

At least, that's how it seemed to Thomas as he leapt at a Moblin that wandered too close to Rue and the old man. He had blood in his eyes from a deep gash on his brow, he was heavily favouring his left side after a vicious kick he hadn't been fast enough to dodge had nearly shattered his hip. But he readied his sword and lunged.

"Lose your concentration now, boy," Rue snapped as he ducked a swing from the Moblin and stabbed upward, "and I will kill you myself."

The Moblin went down with a porcine cry and Thomas returned to his place in the triangle formed by the Gerudo, the Sage and himself. "I'll let the Moblins _have_ you next time, then," he snapped. The effort of maintaining his concentration and his upright position left nothing over to maintain his temper. He was in pain, he was terrified, and he wanted to go home. He'd given up on hiding the first two, but he refused to let the Gerudo see the third.

"Please don't," Sahasrahla said in a strained voice. His eyes were closed as he focussed on weaving the magic in and around the Gerudo fighters below. "It will take all three of us to keep this up."

"Aren't there supposed to be guards at the base of the ladder?" Thomas demanded, shoulders falling as yet another Moblins poked its ugly head up over the side. He tore a throwing knife from a hidden sheathe and hurled it at the beast in a single, fluid motion. It screamed and toppled back over the side, knife protruding from its eye.

"They're dead," said Rue, and her voice was flat and stony. "Or else we would not be attempting to maintain a spell _and_ fight off the Moblins."

Thomas said nothing. Just shook his head and tried to focus on holding various forms of energy for the two mages, assisting them in their weaving.

It wasn't easy.

The Fortress was on fire. The Moblins had shattered the gates in the moment between Sahasrahla's shield going down and the alarm going up. They spilled in – fresh and unbloodied, obviously reinforcements from beyond the portal – and decimated the first wave of tired, wounded Gerudo who met them.

The Gerudo had no reinforcements to call, no backup to rely on. But the sight of the enemy flooding through their gate and into their Fortress had sparked something unexpected in them – something primal and frightening, and Thomas had suddenly understood why the Sheikah had never managed to take the Fortress during the Great War. Rue had all but dragged him and Sahasrahla up to the top of a tower and barked orders at them. Whatever the two mages were weaving was complex, intricate magic, meant, Thomas was pretty sure, to bolster the spirit of the fighting Gerudo, to augment whatever in them reacted so strongly to the sight of the Moblins in their ancient home.

Somewhere below them Thomas could hear Nabooru screaming over the battle.

"They breached the east wing!" someone directly below called. "They're in the dungeons!"

" _Explosives_!" Nabooru shrieked from wherever she was. Rue had mentioned something before about Nabooru getting drunk on the spirit of her sisters, but she was practically rabid with it now. Her shouts were frenzied and furious, enraged past physical endurance. Thomas had caught a brief glimpse of her earlier, and she had looked like a demon, blood covered and snarling. "Bring it down on their Goddess-damned _heads_! Don't let them get any further!"

"They're attacking the west!"

"Elite! Get in there and drive them out! Reds, _bring the damned dungeons down_ already! And I swear to the Goddess herself if somebody doesn't get those damned Moblins away from the mages heads are going to roll!"

"Pay attention," Rue snapped and Thomas forced himself to try to drown it all out. There was the sound of another porcine cry as someone shot a Moblin off the ladder.

"They're going to blow up their own Fortress," he said.

"It is not a critical wing," Rue said clinically. "The Moblins cannot be allowed to penetrate the inner Fortress, and we do not have the strength we need to fight them at both ends of it. It is the right choice." As though on cue, the sound of explosions ripped through the night, and a huge ball of fire erupted from the east wing of the Fortress. A cheer went up from the Gerudo below as they watched a section of their home crumble and burn.

"Nothing that is external to the Gerudo matters to them," Sahasrahla attempted to explain, noting his baffled expression. "The Fortress is a building, made of mud and stone. Nothing more. They don't need it. All they need they have."

"Would you not," Rue asked grimly, "bring the Caverns down around the Moblins ears, if you r choice was between doing so, or letting them have it?"

"I...don't know," Thomas said. "The Caverns are...I mean, the _Quisrol_ is there. All our...our history. Our traditions. They're all there. If we destroyed it..."

"We are our history," Rue said, lifting her head proudly despite how tired she looked. "It is carved into our skin by the sands, engraved on our hearts by the Wind. It cannot be taken away from us."

"The Moblins will never get into the Caverns," he said. "We wouldn't let them."

"Aye," said Rue grimly. "And we would never let them into the Fortress. But in the Fortress they are."

Thomas turned his eyes to the burning dungeons and wiped the blood out of his eyes.

He only just managed to keep himself from saying out loud that he wanted to go home.

***

The Sage of Fire was worried – more than he'd let on to the generals. They had enough on their plates and didn't need to be panicking about this on top of everything else. At least not until he was sure it had become something to worry about.

It wasn't that he doubted Impa's power...she was the Sage of Shadow. Her dominance in the dark was unquestioned. But that was what was so concerning. She had been gone for hours – _many_ hours – when she had indicated perhaps two at most. What could possibly have delayed her? The shadows could no more harm Impa, than Darunia could be burnt. Suppose, then, there had been something else in the dark. Something that was not bound by the ancient magic that ran in the veins of the Sages...

The darkness pressed in around him, cold and unfriendly. Sage he might be, it seemed to be saying, but an uninvited one. One of fire and light and life. Anathema. Antonym. Aberration.

Welcome in the dark places no longer.

His race, like all races, had stories about how they began; where they came from. The Gorons had once belonged to this darkness – the absolute pitch that could only be found buried in the earth, in ancient tunnels and caves that have never known light. But Goron – he for whom their race was named – had brought his people fire, and with it light and heat, and the Gorons as a whole forsook the dark. Left it behind for the glow of lava, or the flickering of torches, or the joy of the sun on your back as you worked.

They never looked back.

Darunia had always assumed it was because they didn't want to, but now he began to wonder if the dark didn't want them back either. Perhaps it had not forgiven them for leaving. Perhaps it was offended he – not only one of the traitor race, but descended from the Flame Warden, and a Flame Warden himself – had dared to return. Had dared to sully its purity with his presence.

He paused in the cold stone hall, his hand still resting on the wall, and spoke. "I seek the Sage of Shadow," he said, and a bead of sweat ran down his cheek. "She has been gone too long and must return."

Again he thought about conjuring a light for himself. Not because he needed his sight – it was slow going, certainly, but he could make his way well enough; his people could perhaps no longer see in the dark, but he could feel the stone around himself and it spoke to him as it always did. Rather, he wanted the fire for the same reason the first Gorons did. For the comfort of the warmth and the light. For the safety it promised. Because he was surrounded by the dark that all mortals, deep in their hearts, fear – irrational and undeniable.

But darkness was an element as much as fire, and worthy of respect. To summon a light here, this deep in the earth, would be to defile the purity of the dark. And he risked provoking whatever power still lurked therein. He would not, as a Sage, do so.

"I...recognize I am unwelcome," he said aloud, and the stone – the blessed, friendly stone – echoed his own voice back at him. "But if she is in danger, it will take a mortal to pull her from here, to rescue her. Powerful you are, but you can't save her."

But the dark, if it could hear, remained as cold and unforgiving as before.

Darunia stood where he was for some time and debated his options. If Impa were capable of hearing him – and his voice was not small – she would have found him by now, and likely flayed him for intruding on her sanctum. That he remained in possession of his skin caused his brow to draw down and his forehead to crease. His worry tripled.

He had been right. Something had gone wrong.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hand tighter against the rough stone wall, clenching his free hand into a fist against his chest. _If the dark won't listen,_ he thought, _perhaps the stone will._

Darkness may have been an element, to be respected and revered, but silence was not. The Big Brother of the Gorons, Sage of Fire, bowed his head, and raised his voice in song – an ancient plea to the stone around him, to the mountain that held him, like a mother, in her heart. The stone had always sheltered his people, had nurtured them, some legends even said it had borne them. It was the stone that had led Goron the Flame Warden to fire, and the stone that had led him home again. It was the stone that guarded his people now, so far from home, in caverns that were not their own.

_Please_ , he begged it as he sang. _Please...help me..._

And as his song finished and the last notes faded from even the echo, he heard it – a low moan, almost blending in with his final note, but far too small a voice for a Goron. "Impa!" he gasped and started forward once more, letting the stone guide his steps.

He almost tripped over her. "Impa!" he said again, dropping to his knees and reaching out for the soft flesh he'd felt, fumbling to find her face. "Impa, speak to me!"

It was definitely her. Short, closely cropped hair, long pointed ears, it could be no other. Not here. But her skin was clammy and as chill as the air around him, and at his touch a tremor ran through her body and she groaned again. He touched her gently, seeking injuries – the stickiness of blood, or a bone at an odd angle – but there was nothing. She lay as though she had fallen asleep.

He had to get her out of here; back to the Sheikan Caverns where they could determine what had happened to her, and what they could do to help.

He picked her up, cradling her in his arms as he would a child, and turned back the way he had come, following the path of his people, on toward the light.

The darkness let him go.

***

Nobernal paced back and forth in the shadows of the tent, unseen by its occupants. Ciardi told her not to do that. Ciardi told her that she should never hide herself, that only a coward hid, that she should walk openly and let people fear her if they would.

Ciardi said if they fear you, they respect you.

Ciardi was probably right. But right now, Nobernal did not wish to be seen. Nobernal did not wish to watch the Gerudo scurry to get away from her, to leave her alone and adrift while they huddled and stared and stared and _stared_. They always _stared_. She couldn't stand it. Not always. The staring made her itch. And it made all the people in her itch too and then they got angry and she couldn't think anymore. And then she got upset and did things and could never remember what they were but Ciardi always told her it was okay so it was.

When you die, she always told the Gerudo silently, I will take your eyes from you. I will put them where mine used to be. And then you will be in me too and you will have to itch with me and I can stare back and make them all sorry. She always said these things silently, except when she forgot and said it out loud. And then they would just stare more and she would have to go and scratch until she bled.

But now they couldn't see her because she was hiding and Ciardi wasn't here anyway so it was okay. Ciardi was asleep. Ciardi had told her she should sleep too, because the Hero was just a man, but he was still a dangerous man and he had killed one of her sisters already so they would have to be careful but Nobernal didn't believe that because her sisters couldn't die so he couldn't have killed Sirana because Sirana was so big and beautiful and her sister so she couldn't die no matter what.

And then Nobernal was crying, even though she had no eyes anymore, because she had felt Sirana die, she had felt a monster tear her sister apart, and that monster was in front of her now and she could see him but she couldn't kill him because Ciardi had said no.

He was drunk, and most of the Gerudo were drunk too, and they were playing stupid mortal games. Like arm wrestling, and who can drink more, and brawling like pigs in the dirt. And then she kind of remembered what pigs looked like – just a little bit, they were kind of pink – but then she didn't anymore and she thought it was funny because she had never actually seen a pig before which meant the picture was from one of the people inside her.

The monster's friend sat not far from her, looking bored and angry and irritated all at the same time. He was not drunk. He mostly watched the Gerudo and every now and then one of them would do something and he would look interested for a minute and he would study them, and then he would go back to just being bored. Sometimes he looked out the window at the sky and try to guess where the sun was behind the clouds. If he could have seen Nobernal he could have asked her because she knew the sun was low and getting lower and soon his friend would turn into a monster on the outside too.

They would leave soon – the monster and his friend. They would leave and she would have to let them go because Ciardi said she couldn't kill him because there was a Blood Challenge but she wasn't Gerudo she was a Sentinel, she didn't have to listen to the rules, but she didn't want Ciardi to get mad at her but she wanted to kill him so bad, sometimes she felt like she had to kill him, because she could still feel a monster tearing apart Sirana and she was afraid because she didn't want to feel that anymore and Sirana had been strong and powerful and better at everything than Nobernal.

And it was so hard...the monster had a piece of the Golden Power and she wasn't supposed to kill anyone who had a piece of it, but he had killed Sirana and he was going to kill her and she was afraid to die because then what would happen to all the people inside her and besides she couldn't die anyway because she was a Sentinel and they had fought in a hundred thousand wars and never died because they couldn't.

One of the Gerudo said something Nobernal hadn't paid enough attention to and pointed at the monster's sword. Nobernal hissed and tensed, like a startled cat, eyes alert and trained on the monster's hand as he pointed at his own sword, as though to confirm what he had been asked. He pulled it from its sheathe in a wave of blue fire and Nobernal bit her own tongue until it bled to keep from shrieking and turned away and fell to her hands and knees and scrambled across the floor, desperate to get away.

It didn't matter, she couldn't hide, she couldn't close her eyes anymore. She didn't have any eyes to close. The shadows in the tent danced in the light from the blue fire, the sacred flames that burned away at her insides even now. It hurt to be near it, it hurt to see it, and she _could_ see it, not in the non-seeing way she saw everything else. This was like a bright blue band across her vision and in that light she could see other things. She could see her eyes, her real eyes, bloody and damaged as she tore them out, unable to look at herself anymore, unable to stand the sight. She could see the cages Ganondorf had trapped her in, closed and dark and lonely, for eons, for days, for centuries. Cold iron and hard chains and vile magic, vile, _vile_ magic that crawled into her skull and twisted and writhed and bit at everything and stayed there and wouldn't come out and no matter how much she scratched and struck they _wouldn't come out_.

_You were pure once,_ whispered the fire and she couldn't see anything anymore but sapphire flames. The voice sliced through her brain and sent the dark things therein scurrying and itching and biting and she whimpered and curled in on herself. _Nobernal the Pure. Nobernal the Innocent! Look what he's done to you!_

"No," she whimpered, almost sobbed, unable to remember that she was supposed to be hiding. "I don't want to look, I don't want to see. I don't want to!"

_Look! Look!_ the fire insisted, as though by looking she could undo it all. As though by seeing what she had become, she could un-become it. She could not, she knew that. She knew that like she knew the monster held a piece of the Golden Power, like she knew the swamp and the mountains that hemmed them in.

"Stop," she begged. "Please. You're killing me!"

And the fire was sad as the monster began to put his sword away again. _You're already dead,_ it whispered to her as the sword slide into its sheath. _You were murdered long ago...you just can't see it..._

And then the Sword of Evil's Bane was sheathed once again and the dark things in her head all went skittering back to their usual places and stopped biting at her and she stopped biting her tongue and digging her nails into her arms and let herself uncurl from her tight ball.

She lay on the floor of the common tent, still invisible to all those around her, always invisible to all those around her, until long after the monster and his friend returned to their tent, and even the Gerudo had finally retreated for the night. She lay there on the ground until the sun rose the next morning, still hidden behind the clouds.

A thought formed, as she stared up through a gap in the tent at the brightening sky, but only half. Born of fatigue and fear and pain, a childish thought, seeking comfort and protection. _I miss Andu—_

But she got no further. The dark skittering things in her skull bit her viciously, showing her once again Ganon's cages and chains, the deep, unfriendly dark, the price of failure, of betrayal. Reminded her cruelly, twisting the barbs of memory and old scars earned for questioning the Master's Will.

She couldn't do it again. Could barely remember why she had done it in the first place.

Easier to break the ancient oaths and slay a bearer of the Golden Power than defy the Master's Will.

The dark things in her skull skittered and soothed their own bites. Reminded her of the feeling of the monster tearing apart Sirana, beautiful Sirana. The feeling of her sister dying, torn apart by claws and teeth and magic and broken oaths. Whatever they had done to Anduriel, they had not killed her, that made them better than this monster who masqueraded as a Hero.

The dark things reminded her that she hated the monster that had killed Sirana. Reminded her that he _was_ a monster. Reminded her that he burned her with that blue fire until she forgot what the blue fire whispered.

She got unsteadily to her feet, ignoring her stiff joints and cramping muscles.

Today, she reminded herself, I will kill the bearer of Courage. Today I will kill the monster.

And the dark things were pleased.


	24. Blood Challenge

#  **Chapter 23 and Interludes**

" _Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell."_

_\- Shakespeare_

##  **Chapter 23**

The morning dawns as all mornings seem to do these days – an unfortunate smelling burlap sac is covering my head, and I sneeze myself awake off the stray pink fur left inside it. I make a face and pull the bag off roughly, wincing when a loose thread gets stuck in my earring. As I attempt to untangle it without tearing off my whole ear, I briefly consider the various surprising and creative ways my life finds to go downhill sometimes.

I'm getting really, _really_ tired of waking up in this bag.

I can hear the distinctive _thwok_ of an arrow striking a target somewhere outside the tent and I pull in a big breath and let it out again slowly. Has to be Hunter. None of the Gerudo would be caught dead practicing the morning of a Blood Challenge. They'd all rather pretend they were born sucking on an arrowhead. Not far from the truth I suppose.

Mr. Perfectionist doesn't care for _pretending_ he's awesome, of course. He will settle for nothing less than actually _being_ awesome.

Which he's not.

At least not with a bow.

Which is probably why he's out there practicing right now instead of sleeping like any normal person would be at this time of the morning. I mean…look at Apheri. She's practically unconscious, curled up in the corner of the tent, in a ball so tight it takes me a moment to realize she's even there.

Another _thwok_ from outside. There's a long time between them, which means he's pausing after every shot to analyze how close he is to his mark, how far he shot it, the angle and trajectory…basically attempting to perfect a skill he never cared about – and trying to perfect it in a matter of hours, when it typically takes most people months, if not years to really develop. Bruiser tried to lecture him into learning archery better, but as much as the two of them can pretend they're somehow more agreeable with each other than Dad and I, Bruiser's louder with his disapproval than Dad is, and Hunter's just quieter with his defiance than I am. Bet he regrets getting all it's- _my_ -life with Bruiser now.

 _Thwok_. And then again: _thwok_. Twice in a row, no pause to analyze. He's getting frustrated.

I'd better go out there.

I push myself to my feet, unable to stifle a groan as my stiff limbs resist the effort, and step over Apheri on my way out of the tent. _Goddess,_ I think hopelessly to myself. _Apheri's hung over, Hunter's angsty, and we somehow have to win a Blood Challenge today. We're so screwed._

As expected, off the side of our tent a stone-faced Hunter is nocking another arrow to his bow and taking aim at a target a ways off. If you didn't know him really well, you'd assume he's just being a Sheikah, all grim and dour and smiling-is-for-children-and-traitors-to-the-throne. But I've spent enough time with the Sheikah by now – Hunter in particular – that I'm starting to get some of the nuances and subtleties. His mouth is pressed too tightly, it's practically disappeared into his face; there's a tension at the corners of his eyes that make him look older than he is; his eyebrows are drawn down just a _bit_ too far for it to be truly neutral. He looks like he's facing down a firing squad.

I imagine the Gerudo lounging languidly not far away, loudly critiquing his technique and laughing acidly when he shoots are not helping his mood. I show them my teeth as I approach – this is quickly becoming my standard greeting around here. I don't think I remember how to smile normally – one of them responds in kind, one of them waves unexpectedly, and the other one winks slyly at me.

I pause mid-step and stare blankly at her, prompting another wave of acid laughter.

The whole lycanthropy thing took care of my own hang-over and any other negative effects of whatever it was I was drinking last night…

But it didn't necessarily fix just how fuzzy my memory is around the whole night…

And there's still enough rabbit left in my brain that that wink is causing me to panic just a little bit…

"You were shirtless by the time we left," Hunter informs me dully, nocking another arrow to his bow. "She was wearing your tunic half the night. When you offered her your hat I figured it was time to go and dragged you back to the tent." There's an unspoken 'you owe me' hanging on the end of the sentence. I consider reminding him about that _one_ bar across the mountains and how my dear, sweet cousin who is normally so strait-laced you just want to kill him almost found himself at the heart of an international incident…but this isn't really the time.

Shame.

He's too smart to give me another good chance to hold that over him.

"So," I say, watching him narrow his eyes at the target and release the arrow. _Thwok_. A good shot. Nice power, good arc, just shy of the centre. Hunter's mouth presses almost imperceptibly tighter and I can see him fighting a scowl. "I'm guessing the plan is to continue pumping arrows into that target and pretending the Gerudo don't exist?"

One of the wolf-women calls something about Hunter's parentage that is simultaneously the most offensive and most awesome thing I have ever heard. I store it away for future reference and throw her a death glare at the same time. She winks at me again and I decide I'm definitely creeped out.

"What Gerudo?" Hunter asks bluntly, pulling another arrow from the quiver on the ground.

I raise an eyebrow at him and lean back against the rough fence that delineates the target practice area from the rest of the camp. I say nothing, just watch him nock the arrow and raise the bow again. He looses the arrow. Another decent shot, but not as good as the last one. The women don't say anything this time. They just laugh.

Hunter doesn't reach for another arrow. He glares quietly at the punctured target in the distance and lets the bow rest at his side for a moment. "Dad could have—he used to be able to…." He pauses, frustrated. I remain silent, waiting. "You know what he was like. He could thread the eye of a needle at a hundred paces with a bow. He was…he was the Archery Shop guy. I told him I'd never need it. That there wasn't anything I couldn't handle with my throwing knives and a sword. Nayru." The oath is vicious, angry. "He must be laughing it up right now." There's another unspoken idea hanging on the end of his sentence – _if he wasn't a ghost bleeding to death eternally on a cold dungeon floor somewhere in this Hell_ – but neither of us is willing to acknowledge it. Hunter looks listlessly down at the bow in his hands and shakes his head. "I'm going to get us killed," he says softly. "Because I was too afraid to compete with my father."

I give him a dull look. "First off," I say, "you don't really compete with Bruiser. You just sort of…flail ineffectually at him in one medium or another until he crushes you, without mercy or remorse and _still_ tells you you have to do the dishes." This prompts a reluctant half-smile. "And secondly, you're not actually bad with a bow, you know. You're better than Malon and you don't want to know how many hours of practice she put in to still suck that bad."

Hunter's smile fades and he looks back over at the target. "Not bad's not good enough," he says darkly. "Not for this. You, Apheri, Lierana and Ciardi have all been shooting your whole lives. The Gerudo archers are the best there are. They…decimated us in the Great War. It's part of why Dad obsessed over archery so much, I think."

"Maybe…Nobernal doesn't know how to use a bow," I try. It's weak and I know it. Hunter doesn't even bother to respond – just gives me an unimpressed look. "All right, fine," I say, a bald streak of impatience flaring unexpectedly in my chest. "Realistically, you'll probably be the first one out of the competition. At worst, you will cost us more points than Apheri and I can make up for and we lose this round. One of us gets stabbed. Boo hoo, we'll live."

"I don't…think I could live with myself if we lose this and it's my fault," he says.

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing we're all dead if we lose anyway," I say with a loose shrug.

"Link, I'm being serious," he says, irritated.

"Yeah, me too," I respond, equally irritated. "Sorry, but I don't really think it's a big deal. Personally? I'm looking forward to it. Bring on the damn competition. Either we win and we get Neesha back and we're on our way to rescuing the others, or we're dead and it's not our problem anymore. And no matter _what_ the outcome is, I get to hit Ciardi as many times as I can before Nobernal kills us all anyway, so honestly? I'll die happy." There's an eagerness in my voice all of a sudden that startles me as much as it startles Hunter.

"What's gotten into you?" he demands, looking at me oddly. "You're typically blissfully unaware of odds or consequences, but that whole rant there? Above and beyond."

I shift my weight uncomfortably. "I don't know," I say. "I just…I'm restless all of a sudden." Behind Hunter the Gerudo have given up trying to aggravate him and have apparently decided it's a good idea to aggravate me instead. I don't catch the whole comment but there's something about my mother, and something about my hat. "Hey," I say, holding out my hand. "Gimme the bow for a sec." Hunter, who has returned to staring in frustration at his target, does so without question. I pull one of my own arrows from my quiver.

The woman who scowled at me earlier – a red, wolf arms and ears – laughs and feels the need to wonder out loud whether a make-believe-King can shoot any better than a Sheikah. Actually, that's not entirely true. She wonders out loud whether a make-believe-King can shoot any better than a "Sheik—!" and then my arrow slices right across her cheek and leaves a thick trail of red to ooze down her face.

I nock a second and raise the bow again. "Maybe you girls had better just stick those tails between your legs and take a damn hike," I tell them angrily, "before I decide I'm done warming up."

"Link," Hunter says quietly, and there's a note of caution in his voice. He can see something in my face that I can only feel unfurling in my chest – feral rage and primal instincts; it's like the Beast, it _is_ the Beast, but different. My heart is pounding in my ears, and there is a part of me that is hoping they'll challenge me, that they'll call my bluff and I can make it clear that I wasn't bluffing.

A part of me that knows me grazing her cheek like that…that wasn't a display of accuracy. I was aiming for the spot between her eyes.

Whatever it is Hunter can see in my face, apparently they can as well. They tense and bare their teeth at me, predatory, dancing between submission and violence. Hunter's hand is resting on his sword. "Link," he says again, sharper. The women don't even notice. They're staring at me and I stare back, my expression growing more feral by the second, the Beast growing angrier and angrier the longer they stare, the longer they refuse to back down – because neither it, nor I intend to back down.

Just as I am about to loose the second arrow, they turn as a group and walk away. I continue to hold the arrow up, aimed at the scowling woman's back, struggling with the urge to just open my hand and let it fly, until Hunter puts a hand on my arm and pushes the bow downward.

It takes everything I have to let him do it.

I let out a long, slow breath, unable, at first to look at him.

"Wow," I say softly, unhappily. "I haven't felt that in a while now."

"Link," Hunter says a third time, worried now. "What _was_ that?"

I swallow and turn to meet his gaze, unable to mask my own concern. "The Beast," I say and shake my head. "I didn't even…it doesn't normally sneak up on me so quickly. That was…." I hand the bow back over to him and turn back toward the tent. I suddenly feel ill. Hunter lets me go, watching me retreat with an uncertain expression on his face.

Apheri comes out as I move in. Her eyes are bloodshot, her mouth is twisted into a scowl, and she looks like the diluted light is stabbing her brain right through her eyes.

What a team we make.

We're so dead.

***

The scowling red is waiting for me when Hunter, Apheri and I make our way back out to the target practice area for the start of the much anticipated Blood Challenge. She's cleaned up her face, but there's a long, thin strip of bright red sitting smartly on her cheek. Interestingly, she is no longer scowling.

"Hey," she calls as we move forward and points at her cheek. "You hit where you were aiming?"

Already I can feel the Beast stirring again in my breast and I can't quite keep it down. "Nope," I tell her carelessly. "I was actually trying to kill you. I typically use a custom bow; not used to these ones."

"You miss like that now and there's no way you'll win," she informs me bluntly. There's something expectant in her face I can't identify.

I show her my teeth. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'll be using my own bow," I tell her. "Keep harassing me and I'll be happy to give you a demonstration before we start."

She peels her lips upward, displaying sharp, prominent canines, and narrows her mostly-golden eyes. "You know they're taking bets, right?"

"I would be surprised if they weren't," I respond with a roll of my eyes. The Gerudo love to bet. It's one of their primary forms of entertainment. I have bilked so much money out of Amplissa over the years it's not even funny. Typically Aliza will just bilk it right back out of me, but hey.

"Want to know your odds?" she asks, a cruel twist to her lips.

"Lady, I've never been one to care about odds," I tell her impatiently, and gesture to take in the whole shebang around me – half-wolf Gerudo setting up an archery competition with our lives as the prize, a raging typhoon walling us in on all sides, unfriendly stares and eager, bloodthirsty howls echoed somewhere unpleasant in my own chest.

"A hundred to one at least," she says, still with that expectant look. "Against you," she adds, in case that wasn't painfully obvious in the first place.

I glance over at Hunter who shrugs nonchalantly. "Better than we usually get," he confirms, an air of insufferable superiority in his face and voice that I could kiss him for. "We tend to run somewhere in the thousand to one range." He glances over at the woman and gives her the most condescending look I've ever seen him give anyone. "Against us," he clarifies acidly for her benefit.

I offer her a broad, unfriendly smile. "We don't tend to play unless they are."

She laughs crudely as we turn and move to take our places – Ciardi and her team of Dark World rejects is already in position. "Hey, boy," she calls, and I turn to glance at her. Her expression is positively animalistic and she runs a finger absent mindedly down the cut on her cheek. "I bet on you."

The Beast grins back at her.

***

"The first stage of the Blood Challenge is Archery – stationary targets," announces a woman in a green uniform, who appears to be entirely wolf with the exception of her face and a single arm. She gestures broadly at the six targets laid out before us. "One shot per round. Each round we move the targets back another ten yards. First one out is three points. Second one out is two points. Every team member out after that is an additional point. Last one standing is minus two points. Choose your weapon." She points at a rack of wicked looking long-bows with her lupine hand. The others all move over to select a bow, and the announcer raises an eyebrow at me when I don't follow suit.

I point at the bow strapped over my back. "I've got one, thanks."

"No magic bows," she says suspiciously. "You pass this based on your own merits."

"It's not magic," I say with a frown. "It's probably the only weapon I own that's not." She scowls darkly at me and holds out her hand expectantly. I give her a dull look but pull it off my back and hand it over. I swear to all three Goddesses she _scours_ that bow looking for some reason to accuse me of trying to cheat.

I see Ciardi has stacked the arbiters in her favour.

Whatever. Entirely predictable and it won't help her much in the long run anyway.

The crowd of gathered Gerudo – everyone, I expect, except the women unlucky enough to draw short straw on the patrol shifts for today – whoops and cheers and barks as we take our places in front of the targets. Ciardi smiles indulgently at them. Nobernal bounces almost uncertainly from one foot to the other. She's holding her bow the wrong way and every now and then scratches at her arm compulsively. She stares either at the crowd of Gerudo, at Ciardi, or at me. Lierana is doing nothing short of swaggering as she paces back and forth in front of her target, every now and then shooting a superior look at Apheri.

In a stark contrast to Team Awesome over there, I apparently got stuck with Team We're-Gonna-Die. Hunter's face is set in a particularly hard shade of Sheikan Neutral. As before, no one here knows him well enough to know the expression is any different from his typical I-am-a-Sheikah-and-therefore-above-you face, but I do. He's terrified. Between using one of his weak weapons, the camp of hostile Gerudo and the corrupted Makani, he's in what I assume is the perfect example of a Sheikan hell. But his hands are steady and his eyes are determined.

Apheri is as grim as she was when I first met her. Except for the occasional flicker of pain behind her lashes at a particularly loud howl or scream you'd never know she's got a hangover. A big one, I expect. She doesn't remember much from last night, which is probably good, but she remembers swearing the Covenant and she remembers who I am. Her attitude toward me has been noticeably different since she swore her oaths. Nothing on the surface, but all the hostility, the unspoken hatred and mistrust, is gone. There's no resistance between us now. An ally in truth, and I'm grateful for it.

"Archers!" calls the arbiter to a great cheer from the crowd. "Ready your arrows."

We turn as a group toward our targets and nock our arrows to our bows. Nobernal stares at her bow for a long moment, a searching expression on her face. At last she nods in satisfaction, flips the bow around the right way, and raises and nocks it in a single, fluid motion. She stands with a sudden confidence as she faces the target – every inch the immortal warrior she's supposed to be – and I bite back a deep, frustrated sigh.

I was really hoping she'd be bad at archery.

"Didn't I cut her hand off?" I mutter under my breath. "I'm sure I did."

"She put it back," Apheri notes with a creeped out face. "She does that."

"Take aim," calls the arbiter, and I am grateful for the excuse not to have to contemplate that. There's a collective groan of bow strings as we stretch them taut. "Fire!"

Six arrows arc gracefully through the air, and each finds its target. The Gerudo in the crowd throw Hunter and me appraising looks, evidently upgrading their opinion of our archery skills. I catch Hunter's gaze and roll my eyes at him.

The targets are practically in our laps – how bad did they _think_ we were?

Several Gerudo move in off the sidelines and shift the targets back.

"Take aim. Fire!"

Again and again and again the targets are moved back, we take aim, and we fire. Each time all six arrows find their way home. But it's getting harder and harder, and you can see it on the faces around me.

The targets are moved farther back again. I'm still good. Apheri looks considering, but I think she's still good. A bead of sweat runs down the side of Hunter's face and he twitches as though he wants to brush it away but doesn't.

"Hey," I say, and nudge him. "Take it easy." He doesn't look at me, and doesn't acknowledge me.

"Take aim. Fire!"

The shots are more varied in accuracy now, but we're all still in the centre circle. They're moved back again.

"Take aim. Fire!"

A shout goes up from the gathered Gerudo. Two arrows are outside the centre circle – Lierana and Hunter. Lierana goes pale. Hunter goes stiff. The arbiter jogs up to the targets to judge which arrow is farther from the centre, and which competitor is out. She takes her time making her judgment, then turns and at points at Hunter. The crowd reacts harshly, pleased that the mighty Sheikah gets the dishonour of being the first one out and giving his team a hefty three points. Hunter, to his credit, doesn't react. He bows apologetically to me and Apheri – falling back on formality as a self-defence mechanism – and returns his bow to the weapon rack and takes his place on the sidelines. I want very terribly to go talk to him, but I can't right now.

Farore.

He's going to obsess over this for months. Perfectionist bastard.

"How many more yards are you good for?" I ask Apheri as the arbiter gestures for the targets to be moved back again.

"Twenty more," she says. "After that, I don't know."

"What about Ciardi and Lierana?"

"Lierana's out of her depth already," she says, not without spite. "Ciardi's good for another thirty at least. What about you?"

I consider it carefully. "I think I can do the forty," I say, and make a face at her when she raises an eyebrow. "I _told_ you. Archery is my thing. It's my thing that I do. I've been shooting this bow since I was a kid. I grew up in an archery shop. I've spent the last three years being mercilessly trained by Gerudo convinced I'm going to embarrass them horribly someday. I can do the forty."

"All right," she says, in a tone that clearly says she doesn't believe me. "Let's hope you're right."

"Take aim," says the arbiter. "Fire!" Five arrows, five arcs, five direct hits – but Lierana's is close enough to the edge of the centre circle that the arbiter is called over to check it.

"Take aim – fire!"

Again two arrows go wide – Lierana's and Apheri's. The arbiter runs back down to compare and points at Lierana. The woman in question takes it far less gracefully than Hunter. She colours deeply, then pales when she catches Ciardi's unimpressed glare. She throws the Gerudo equivalent of a hissy fit, which consists of throwing her weapon negligently down on the ground and storming over toward the targets to see for herself which arrow is closer. As she approaches the arbiter's face grows more and more offended – one does not question the judgment of a green without also incurring her considerable wrath.

The crowd, unexpectedly, erupts in a chorus of angry boos and derisive barks. These Lierana ignores as she fights with the arbiter. Ciardi shouts for Lierana to stop, but she can't be heard over the crowd. Angry, she turns to Nobernal and snaps something. The Sentinel eagerly leaps to obey, taking to the air and flying down to the end in a flash, landing between the arbiter and Lierana. Both women back-pedal hastily, their argument forgotten. Nobernal stares at Lierana and cocks her head to the side. Again, Lierana colours, then pales, then turns stiffly and takes her place on the sidelines, to a great cheer from the crowd.

I watch Ciardi as she narrows her eyes at the rowdy women and wolves, considering their reaction and its many implications. I get the impression the strength of it was unexpected, especially against someone on Ciardi's team.

They're not here to watch a rigged show, or a hollow display. They're here for a Blood Challenge – a real, honest Blood Challenge – and that probably complicates things for Ciardi. Highlights for her just how close to the edge she is. Whoever the arbiter may prefer, the crowd – the _real_ arbiter of a Blood Challenge – is undecided. She could lose this thing in an instant, and it'll have nothing to do with who shoots better.

Apheri, me, and even angsty-man Hunter exchange a suddenly hopeful glance.

Score one for Team We're-Gonna-Die.

The arbiter gestures and the targets are moved back again.

"I'm not going to make this one," says Apheri, shaking her head and tuning out Ciardi and the crowd.

"Take aim!" calls the arbiter.

"Yes you are," I tell her flatly, raising my bow.

"Fire!"

Turns out I'm a liar – Apheri's shot goes wide, landing far enough from the centre that I can tell even from this distance. Apheri hisses and I swear. The arbiter points at Apheri and she bows deeply to me in abject apology – an innocent gesture ultimately, a display of apology as opposed to deference, but the gesture does not go unnoticed. More than a few eyes go wide in the crowd. Ciardi sneers as she pounces on what she no doubt sees as ammo.

Ha ha ha, oh how I laugh.

"A Sheikah and a traitor to her own King," she says loud enough for everyone to hear. "Quite the team you've assembled, boy."

"The Sheikah's worth his weight in gold," I respond hotly, "and so is Apheri. Besides, from where I'm sitting your team's not looking that great either. I count one sycophantic backstabber with no respect for the arbiter _or_ this Challenge, and a crazy angel _your_ King twisted and corrupted. Tell me," I say, raising my voice for the benefit of the crowd and point at Nobernal, who is scratching fiercely at her leg, oblivious to the bright red tracks her talons are leaving on it, "does that look like the Avatars from the stories? The ones who fought side by side with Geru in the first wars?"

Nobernal's wings rustle as the Gerudo turn to consider her. She forces her hand away from her leg and straightens, intensely uncomfortable under their stares. Her face twists angrily. "I'm not crazy," she says. "I'm not."

Ciardi lays a hand on her arm and glares coldly at me. "How do you know that name? The name of the prophet?"

This isn't quite how I wanted to go about this…

But…

I gesture at Apheri and she steps forward resolutely. "He is a Son of the Wind," she says grimly. "He knows the story of the Covenant. I have re-sworn my oaths and he has taken them on behalf of the Desert Wind." She raises her head high and despite the pride, despite the determination, I can still see the Dark World doing its thing behind her lashes. This is going to cost her and she knows it. "This man is my King – and all of yours."

It's like someone set off a bomb in the crowd. They _explode_ with noise and motion – it's practically a riot. Ciardi is staring at Apheri as though she is having extreme difficulty remembering that this a Blood Challenge and Apheri is protected under its rules.

"Have I been struck down?" Apheri is shouting angrily, barely audible over the crowd. "Has the Goddess seen fit to punish me in any way for bowing to another? No and no! He knows the Covenant! He knows Rue and the children and the Fortress! He knows our ways!"

The arbiter has come over and is screaming at us about how we shouldn't be talking about Geru and Sons of the Wind in front of the Sheikah, and this is a Blood Challenge, and we need to be shooting not screaming, and everybody shut up! But, of course, no one does. She turns – livid as only a green facing a massive protocol breach can be – to stare expectantly at Ciardi. The defacto leader turns to her people and raises a hand authoritatively, fully expecting them to quiet themselves.

But they don't.

The Beast cackles deep in my chest and I feel the corner of my lips twist upward in an insufferably superior smirk (insufferable enough to put Hunter's earlier display to shame) as I watch her stare, dumbfounded, at the unresponsive crowd. I walk up beside her and turn the grin on her.

"What's the matter?" I ask sweetly. "Losing your grip?"

She turns savagely toward me and I see the same sudden fire in her eyes as when I cut her hair. She hates me _so much_. It's awesome. I revel in it.

Nothing in my gaze so much as wavers – if anything, it grows more feral. Her stare is challenging and threatening and predatory and suddenly mine is too. The Beast growls deep in my chest and I pull an arrow smoothly from my quiver.

"Watch," I tell her, "and learn."

I raise the bow to the clouds and release the arrow – the _light_ arrow. It explodes in the sky with a burst that cuts across the noise and unites the angry Gerudo voices into a single alarmed cry. "Hey!" I shout into the sudden silence that follows the cry. "Farore, Nayru and Din, ladies. Believe her or don't, but shut the Hell up for a second so I can finish grinding your fearless leader's face into the dirt. I've got a Blood Challenge to win, here." They stare at me – a few corners of the group laugh uncertainly – and I take the opportunity to pat Ciardi's shoulder in a distinctly sympathetic manner, which she recoils from as though burned. "Oh, and I think she wanted your attention or something," I tell them with a conspiratorial wink. "You guys should listen better. You know how she gets if she thinks you're not paying attention."

Ciardi's face is a remarkable shade of purple and only the presence of the arbiter keeps her from going for my throat right now.

I'm cackling along with the Beast as I take up my position in front of my target.

"Are you afraid of _anything_?" Apheri asks, looking impressed despite herself.

I grin wildly at her. "Yes," I answer honestly. "Just not Ciardi."

I hadn't actually meant for the answer to carry, but apparently Ciardi's still choking on her own rage and the Gerudo are still waiting intently for her to say whatever it was she had wanted to say, and the question and the answer are quite plainly heard by all.

This _actually_ prompts a laugh from more than a few in the crowd. The lovely purple in Ciardi's face crosses the line over into white – I feel bad for her. The rage that makes your face go white is the worst kind I think. She can probably barely think right now.

"It's because he's an idiot," Hunter explains to Apheri as she sits beside him on the side – the affection in his voice dulls the annoyance the barb would otherwise evoke. "Don't give him too much credit."

I ignore them and turn back to Ciardi with a broad, antagonistic grin. "Well?" I demand. "Are we going to shoot, or what? Let's go."

She turns jerkily back to the target, unable to even respond. Nobernal gives me a deep, hate-filled stare and it takes everything I have to maintain my grin beneath it.

"Take aim!" calls the arbiter and I'm grateful for the excuse to look away. "Fire!"

The white-rage costs Ciardi. Her shot is just this side of perfect – and also just this side of the centre. There's a surprised groan from the crowd as they contemplate Ciardi getting beaten by me. The arbiter points at her, and she turns stiffly – for a moment she looks like she wants to fight the call but the arbiter's eyes flare and instead she just starts to walk away.

"Hey," I call after her, all good-natured deference and humble winner. "It was a good shot, you know? Don't beat yourself up over it. Just keep practicing. I'm sure you'll get better."

There's a low, eager "oooohhhhh!" from the crowd as they watch her reaction. Ciardi, by this point, has completely forgotten the crowd even exists. It is merely background noise, like the annoying buzzing of an insect too close to your ear, trying to distract you from your actual goal, which is to murder the Hero of Time. This is, in fact, more or less what I wanted. As long as she forgets it's not just the two of us sitting here trying to destroy each other, she'll make mistakes. Mistakes like turning around and walking over to me and grabbing the front of my tunic and pulling me close despite the angry shouting of the hastily approaching arbiter.

"I'm going to crush you," she hisses at me. "Crush you until there's nothing left for your Sheikah to mourn."

"Well," I tell her, smiling with all my teeth, "I'm not going to crush _you_. You're not really worth my time to be honest with you. And, truthfully, you're doing a good enough job of that yourself. What I _am_ going to do is ask the arbiter whether this counts as you putting your hands on my person in an aggressive and threatening manner—," I look over at the extremely irritated arbiter who throws her hands up in the air and nods because, duh, "—and then I'm going to hit you. Really hard."

True to my word I throw a right hook at her head, which she is ready for because I talk too much. She blocks it with her left, but leaves her right wrapped in my tunic, which is fine by me because my left fist has already found its way into her stomach, doubling her over and forcing her to stumble back.

The crowd says nothing, just stares, wide-eyed.

Ciardi straightens and glares at the arbiter who shrugs helplessly. I'm allowed to defend myself if someone comes after me first. The white-clad woman turns a burning stare back on me.

"I'm going to enjoy stabbing you when Nobernal wins this round," she says.

"Ah, ah," I correct her softly. "Nobernal may outshoot me, but I think we both know who won this round."

She turns without another word and moves to join Lierana on the sidelines.

"Ready your bows," the arbiter calls. I retrieve my bow from the ground and take my place again. "Take aim – fire!"

My shot goes wide.

Nobernal's is perfect, dead centre on the target.

I turn to the crowd and raise a hand to them, offering them another gratuitous wink and a florid bow as the arbiter pronounces Nobernal the winner, leaving Team Awesome with a score of one, and Team We're-Gonna-Die with a score of five.

The crowd, for once, is quiet – peering either at me or at Ciardi and considering.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Mules, Mido had learned fairly early on his trek across the frozen wastes that had been Hyrule once upon a season ago, were intensely stubborn, but determined creatures. Saria had once called him mule-headed, and at the time he had taken it as a compliment, assuming that a mule was like a horse, and therefore a favourable thing to be compared to. Now, as he stood waist deep in the snow, one more problem away from tears, and hauled as hard as he could on the beast's reins, he was more than a little offended.

 _Once Link comes home with Saria,_ he told himself to make himself feel better, _I am going to stick a frog down her tunic._ And then he imagined himself in the Lost Woods, with Saria and Link and how impressed they'd be at how brave he had been while they were gone. The thought was a much happier one than the reality of his situation, so he stopped pulling on the mule's reins and indulged in it for a moment, letting the image warm his spirit, if not his extremities.

Ultimately, however, a particularly unfriendly burst of winter wind sliced across his face and he closed his eyes against it. The mule grunted unhappily and Mido gave him a grouchy look. "I don't know what you're complaining about," he grumbled through the scarf wrapped four times around his face by one of the identical women before he'd left. "You have fur and a big fat blanket. I bet you're not as cold as me." The mule brayed angrily at him and he threw his hands into the air, the gesture comically stiff for all the layers he was wearing. "Well they don't make coats for mules! I asked, okay?"

The mule snorted and dropped to its knees in the snow. Mido stared at it for a moment, then puffed his chest out. "Fine," he said. "I've decided to set up camp. You better hope the Stalchildren don't come out in the winter."

He stormed over to the mule and started to pull out the pieces he needed to build a shelter. Link's father had shown him how to do it, making him practice it over and over and over again until he could do it off-by-heart. It was a lot like building a fort, except you had to think about things like where is the wind coming from and is it snowing or not. Brayden had told him a hundred times that if he didn't build his shelter right, either he or the mule could die. He said it very seriously and Mido believed him.

The worst you got if you built your fort wrong was bugs shoved down your pants.

He paused for a moment, the tarp in his hands flapping in the wind, and struggled desperately to keep his tears in.

"I want to go home," he said in a voice so small the wind took the words away before even he could hear them.

***

"So," said Rue, her face drawn and pinched and older even than usual, "I cannot decide which of the only two possibilities are more unlikely – that your shield failed before the appointed hour, or that the Moblins have somehow found access to magic."

"I assure you," said Sahasrahla, huffy and irritated as he limped into the room behind her, "my shield would not have failed before the appointed hour. If I've told you once, old woman, I've told you a thousand times, shields are my specialty. I may be old but it's my hair I lost, not my wits _or_ my magic."

"Indeed," said Rue, without further comment.

"I can't feel my leg," Thomas moaned, unable to contribute anything useful to the discussion. He fell bonelessly into a chair and tried futilely to trace back the series of events that had led him here, in the most unlikely of places to find a Sheikah.

"That's probably for the best," Rue noted clinically. "We'll have someone look at it as soon as they're done with the more seriously wounded."

"Sorry," Thomas said, shamefaced suddenly. "I didn't mean—I was just whining."

"It reflects poorly on you," Rue noted without emotion. Thomas waited until she looked away and then winced. Something of Sahasrahla's usual good mood crinkled briefly at the corners of his eyes as he watched the exchange, but even he lacked the energy to sustain it.

Rue turned to look out the window at the smoke-filled night. The Gerudo had turned the Moblins back, but at great cost. They were working outside to pile the corpses out of the way of the fighting until they could be cremated properly; an entire wing of the Fortress was destroyed, still burning away in the night as the remaining Gerudo fought to get the fire under control; and the Gerudo who lived to fight again were dealing with the blow to morale caused by the first breach of their walls and their gate in their history. For the first time since their race had been created the enemy had – however briefly – penetrated their sanctum. Thomas wouldn't pretend to understand their reactions, but he knew it would not be pretty.

"I have known Moblins," Rue said softly, her face troubled. "I have fought with them and against them. I have lived side by side with them, in these very walls. Even the first generation Moblins lack the required intelligence to wield magic. The degree of skill required…it is beyond them."

"And yet wield magic they have," said Sahasrahla gravely. "And complex magic at that. That shield was no pretty piece of prestidigitation. A Sentinel taught me that spell. There are a handful of mages in this world with a deep enough understanding of the arcane arts to have unwound it so quickly, and last I checked none of them Moblins."

"Maybe Agahnim wasn't Ganondorf's only pet mage," Thomas suggested cautiously.

"Perhaps," said Sahasrahla, considering, "but I like to think I would have known. We mages are not so populous that we lose track of each other easily."

"Then something else is coming through that portal," Rue said darkly.

Sahasrahla's face was grim. "There is little beyond that portal that bodes well for any of us, and too much of it poorly understood." There was something deep and heavy and, if Thomas didn't know better, frightened in his eyes. "There are worse things, beyond the veil, than Moblins," he said.

He did not elaborate, and for that, Thomas was grateful.

***

Hunter stood as still as the statues in the entrance to the _Quisrol_ , and twice as grim. He could have been one of them, but for the way his eyes swept across the scene playing out before him – over the gathered crowd, onto the latest in what was turning into a long line of cranky Gerudo companions, and finally settling on the man who may as well have been his brother. Link wasn't even looking at him. He was pacing back and forth in the centre of the ring, surrounded by Gerudo at once more hostile than was useful, and more friendly than expected. His pacing wasn't nervous or anxious, neither anticipatory nor expectant. Just idle. Movement for the sake of movement.

There was a restlessness to the motion that Hunter didn't like. Something that had nothing to do with Link's typical over-abundance of energy.

But if the Sheikah was concerned, he didn't show it. He swept his eyes away from Link and back to the crowd once more. Observing, assessing, analyzing, keeping a constant stream of information flowing through his brain to ensure it stayed busy. Too busy to acknowledge his ongoing internal battle.

 _This is WRONG_ , sang his blood, and he pretended he couldn't hear it over the observation that Apheri was wearing a reluctantly curious, appraising expression when she looked at Link, similar to the one Jinni used to wear before she died. As though she didn't believe he would pass this test, but she actually kind of hoped he would.

 _This is VILE_ , cried his bones. But they were drowned out for now by him noting that for all the noise coming from the gathered, riotous mob – howling and screaming and laughing – sounded like it always had, something had changed in the cacophony. The voices were no longer harmonious. What had once been an undercurrent of dissent had grown into something else, found a voice of its own. The crowd howled two notes, now, discordant and angry within itself.

 _Why won't you DO SOMETHING?_ screamed his heart, and it took everything he had to keep the words from cracking through to the surface. To keep impulse from becoming thought and thought from becoming action. Instead, he weighed the implications of the change in the crowd's reaction and mood. Link was turning them. It was happening faster than any of them expected, and Hunter wondered whether it was because he was the son of their wind, or because he was the Hero of Time, or just because he was Link and that's all he ever seemed to need.

A ripple ran through the crowd as they turned to look toward Ciardi's tent. The white-clad Gerudo reappeared suddenly, throwing back the black flaps with uncharacteristic vigour, one might almost say flair. Her motions, her expressions were grander than before, dramatic in a way they hadn't been. She was no longer pretending that this was not an open war, that the hearts of the people she had led for the last seventeen years were not a battleground, growing more bloody by the minute. She had accepted, as any Gerudo would, the reality of the conflict and thrown herself into it with weapons bald and gleaning, and a will like the edge of a knife.

She raised her hand to the crowd to show the object she had gone to retrieve – a serrated blade, large and ugly, far too ornate to be anything but ceremonial. The crowd howled at the sight of it – angry, delighted, divided in their reactions in every way possible except for the eagerness in every voice.

The non-light of the Mire shone briefly on its edge, and the glint may as well have been a blade of ice, slicing across Hunter's heart, turning his stomach and sapping his strength. For a moment his will faltered and impulse became thought – . The flow of information stopped and his mind recoiled in horror at the way this event had to play out and every inch of him was momentarily in agreement. He couldn't let this happen. He _had_ to do something.

But he didn't. He didn't move. Didn't twitch. Just watched Ciardi carry the blade toward the centre of the ring where Link stood laughing at her, watching her approach with a grin on his face. Not the usual courageous, defiant, just-this-side-of-giddy grin Hunter would have expected, but something darker, more dangerous. Something bestial.

 _It's your fault,_ Hunter's heart whispered. _You missed the target. You lost the first round. And now Link will pay. Because of you. Because you failed._

 _Truth,_ Hunter thought, because it was.

 _Do something!_ his heart insisted.

 _I can't_ , he thought, because he couldn't.

 _Dosomethingdosomethingdosomething,_ his heart continued, and he shut it out once more, closed his eyes long enough to force his mind to go blank, and then turned his attention back to the scene at hand.

The ring of Gerudo parted to allow Ciardi through. She played with the knife in her hand, frivolous displays of dexterity and eagerness.

 _How many times will you stand and do nothing while someone you care about pays for your mistakes?_ his heart hissed and despite himself, despite his best effort not to, his lips parted and he hissed in a quick, pained breath between his teeth. In front of him, Link threw his arms open wide and his grin became a threatening leer.

"Wherever you want," he all but barked at Ciardi. "Gimme your best shot!" His blue eyes were wild and eager with an array of emotions Hunter didn't typically associate with him.

_Your father died because you weren't strong enough to stop Thomas from killing him. Thomas killed him because you weren't smart enough to stop Agahnim before it became an issue. And you just stood there and watched it happen._

"The wound must be non-fatal," explained the arbiter, struggling to be heard over the crowd. "Bandages will be provided immediately after it's done, but no healing potions are to be consumed. You must finish the Challenge with whatever wound the victor of the first round chooses to inflict."

_Jinni died because you weren't strong enough to defend yourself. Ketari died because you weren't strong enough to defend yourself. If you had been faster, better than you are, maybe they'd still be here. Maybe it would be Jinni instead of Apheri in this Challenge. Maybe Thomas wouldn't have ever gone to train with Agahnim. But you'll never know. Because you stood there and did nothing._

"One strike, that's it," the arbiter told Ciardi. "If you miss, that's it. No working the blade. No sawing or twisting."

"What if he dodges?" Ciardi demanded, and Link scoffed openly.

"Dodge what?" he cried. " _You_? What a joke. I'll take whatever you care to dish out and I'll laugh in your face afterward."

"Is that so?" Ciardi snapped, eyes flaring.

"That's about as so as so can be," he returned. His pupils were wide, his voice eager. The conflict was going to his head, making him behave strangely. Like himself, but not like himself. However reckless he could be, Link's primary concern had always been outcomes. His recklessness stemmed from the fact that once he had a goal he didn't really care about how he accomplished it, just that it got done. But right now…Hunter didn't think he was thinking at all about outcomes. He wasn't thinking about the Challenge, or Neesha, or the other Maidens, or going home or even beating Ganondorf.

He was thinking about Ciardi. And how she was right in his face. And how he wanted to kill her. And there was no more thought behind it than that.

It chilled Hunter.

Ciardi raised the knife.

 _Do something!_ Hunter's heart begged him. _Don't let it happen again! You have to do something!_

 _She won't kill him_ , he told himself angrily. _It's just a wound. It'll be healed by morning._

_And you're okay with him taking that wound for you? A wound that could wind up killing him before the Challenge is over._

_I don't have a choice. He's the Challenger, not me. I can't take it for him. I would if I could,_ he added desperately.

She drove the knife into Link's shoulder, deep. Deep enough Hunter was sure it struck bone. Pain flared in Link's eyes but if he'd hoped it would bring his cousin back to reality, he was wrong. The wildness in them only flared up higher. His face tensed and he grunted, his smile turning into a snarl. He lurched forward as she stepped away, murder on his face and in his eyes, but Hunter had finally given into the insistent that hadn't stopped since Ciardi had stepped out of her tent.

He slipped between Link and Ciardi, bracing his hand on Link's shoulder to stop his movement, mindful of the bloody knife still buried in it. Unexpectedly, Apheri took Link's other side. It took both of them to hold him back.

Link didn't look at either of them, just stared at Ciardi, his face a mask of rage and hate. "Ha," he said. "Ha. Ha."

He reached up to his shoulder and tore the knife out carelessly, throwing it negligently to the ground at her feet. Blood gushed freely from the wound, over Hunter's hand, staining the bandages wrapped tightly around his fingers.

 _How long,_ asked his heart, _until a wound becomes a killing blow. Will you let him take that for you as well? Will you still stand by and do nothing?_

The imagery was too much. He closed his eyes and turned his face away.

***

##  **Chapter 23 (continued)**

"The second stage of the Challenge is Mounted Combat," calls the arbiter, to a raucous cheer from the audience. I don't hear them, deaf, for once, to their howls.

"Seriously?" I say, staring incredulously at the…things that are apparently going to make up the second part of the Challenge. Huge, hulking beasts, corralled into a large enclosure, cordoned off into six sections – one for each of the creatures. One of them – the big mean one in the centre – raises its head and screams angrily at the injustice of the universe or something equally rage-inducing, displaying horrendous tusks and insane little eyes. It looks at me – _right at me_ – as though _I'm_ the one that locked it in there and I can tell it already hates me. "Seriously?"

"Six mounts, six riders," continues the arbiter.

Apheri is giving me an impatient look that I recognize. It means she's hit Phase 2 of Accepting That Your King is The Worst Gerudo Ever, which is to say getting irritated every time I display ignorance of anything any _real_ Gerudo would know off by heart. "What did you expect?" she demands. "Horses?"

"Yes," I reply, irate. "I really did." The arbiter shoots me a dirty look and I hastily look away from her and lower my voice. "Blind's men had horses. Insane, nightmarish, Dark World horses, but still horses. These are…I mean they're…Hunter. Tell her what they are."

"Pigs," he supplies helpfully, peering at them with an odd sort of curiosity on his face. "Boars, actually, I think. Are they animals?"

"First to mount is worth 2 points, last to mount minus 2. First to break their mount is worth 5, second 4, third 3, fourth 2, fifth 1, and last to break their mount is minus 5. If anyone dies before breaking their mount, it's -5 points to their team."

"I like how the loss of the unique and amazing being that is a person is not enough of a penalty," I say. "I like how you have to _lose points_ on top of it."

"They're animals," Apheri says, abruptly moving from Phase 2 to Phase 3 – pretending your King doesn't exist, and therefore it is impossible that he could be the worst Gerudo ever. "Spawned like the Moblins when Ganondorf touched the Triforce. A gift to him from it."

"Like the points are worth more than the person."

"The Triforce is just a hunk of gold," Hunter corrects her automatically. "It didn't make these, he did. It just gave him the power to do so. Are they hard to break?"

"Drawing first blood in the combat earns your team 5 points. Losing first blood minus 3. Each successful strike thereafter awards one point to the striker, and removes the stricken from combat. Killing blows or deliberate incapacitating wounds are considered cheating and will result in the traditional punishment. All combatants must be able to participate in the final round of the Challenge unless the Goddess – not the Gerudo – wills it otherwise."

"Or the Sheikah!" calls one of the women – the no-longer-scowling red, no less – from the audience. The crowd laughs and the arbiter blinked as though she had forgotten – or been trying to forget – the massive indignity that is a Sheikah being part of a Blood Challenge.

Hunter, wisely, does not respond.

As the arbiter gestures for the Challengers to approach her, Apheri brings our side-conversation back around to its original topic by bleakly pointing out: "they are monsters meant to be ridden by monsters. They are _extremely_ hard to break."

Hunter nods as thought that's the most natural thing in the world, then throws me a sidelong glance. "Are you going to be okay?"

I give him a baldly incredulous expression. "No," I respond acidly. "I'm going to get trampled by a six hundred pound pile of bacon with teeth as long as my leg."

"I mean with…," and he gestures at my shoulder.

I move my hand unconsciously up and lay it on the thick bandages hiding beneath my tunic. "I'm honestly more worried about the bacon."

He nods and starts to turn away but I reach out and grab him, turning him to look at me as I narrow my eyes. "Hunter, this wasn't you."

He brushes my hand off his shoulder and turns back to the arbiter. "Yes it was," he mutters, and the arbiter starts talking before I can flail inarticulately at his overwhelming sense of responsibility for everything that is wrong with the world.

Great. Now I'm worried about more than bacon.

"…pull scraps of coloured cloth from this bag," the arbiter is saying when I finally stop trying to bore a hole in the back of Hunter's head and pay attention. "The helboars are painted with corresponding colours. The cloth you pull is your mount. The breaking will begin once your mounts are selected."

I cast a sidelong look at the giant, murderous boar in the middle – the one that hates me on a deep, personal level – and note that the colour painted on its side is green.

Farore, Nayru and Din. Like I can't see where _this_ is going.

Not funny, ladies. Not funny at all.

Ciardi reaches into the bag and pulls out a white cloth. Apheri follows, drawing blue. When the arbiter holds the bag out for Nobernal, the corrupted sentinel stares at it nervously and hops from one foot to the other. She looks up at Ciardi and Ciardi frowns at her and jerks her chin impatiently at the bag. Nobernal reaches a taloned hand in and fishes around for an extended period of time. Her face is a study in torture.

"It's just to pick a boar," Hunter says gently, if cautiously, seeing the same thing in her face as I do. She's stressed to an extreme degree. "You can't do it wrong." His pity earns him a blood-freezing hiss from Nobernal, but she finally closes her sharp fingers around a cloth and pulls it out – red. She stares at it for a moment, then looks up at the boars, trying to pick hers out. Hunter's lips purse tightly into a considering frown as he watches her, and I can see his brain working as he tries to line up the image of a sight so simultaneously terrifying and pathetic with the image he has in his head of what a Makani should be.

Lierana reaches in and pulls out a purple slip, then she turns to me and Hunter with a smug grin that makes me want to light her on fire. "Looks like one of you gets the big one."

"Probably for the best," I respond immediately. "I doubt you could have handled it."

Her eyes flare as Apheri snickers and Ciardi gives her an unimpressed expression, but the arbiter steps forward before she can do anything about it. Hunter reaches into the bag and I add under my breath, for his benefit, "Would you hate me if I said I hope you get the green one?"

"Yes," he replies, and pulls an orange cloth out of the bag.

I stare at that little slip of cloth like it's killed me. The arbiter reaches into the bag for me and pulls out the green slip, holding it out to me.

I take it dismally and look up at the helboar, who is starting to pace in angry circles in his pen.

"What about if I cost us five points? Would you hate me then?"

"Yes," Hunter and Apheri reply at the same time, completely devoid of pity and not quite able to mask the relief they feel at not having drawn green.

"Riders!" the arbiter calls loudly, drawing a cheer from the crowd who have been chatting amongst themselves and no doubt taking bets on who would get which boar. "Take your positions!"

I hold up my green cloth for them to see as I work my way around the pen towards the Big Pig. "Anyone who bet against me getting Gigantor is an idiot!" I call out to them. They laugh and howl at me and despite everything the overwhelming sense of dread I felt not more than seconds ago – completely justifiable dread, I might add – falls away from me, like snow off a slanted roof on a warm day. The sudden sliding of one corner of my mouth up into a grin startles me. "And whoever _doesn't_ bet on me beating the living Hell out of him is a bigger one!" This earns me the expected cheers and jeers.

Their reactions, their energy feeds me in a way I'm not entirely comfortable with. A sudden eagerness blossoms in my chest and I climb the fence to Gigantor's little corner of the enclosure with a grin that's too wide and a nonchalance that even I can recognize is dangerous. But I can't deny it either; can't push it back.

Looking down into Gigantor's hate-filled eyes I'm not sure I want to.

"You remind me of someone," I tell it in a growl, not releasing its stare. "Someone as huge and ugly and porcine as you."

It grunts and snorts and paws at the ground and screams in rage, drowning out the sound of the arbiter as she yells for us to begin the Challenge.

I don't even let it finish its little display. I leap into the pen and rush it, adrenaline pumping, heart thumping. The world outside this filthy pen – the world beyond me and my challenger – slips away, like it never existed. All I can smell is the stench of blood hunger and fear and primal rage and I honestly can't tell what's me and what's the helboar. It sets its head down, nostrils flared, eyes wild, and meets my charge with its own. The ground shakes beneath me as it pounds at the dirt with unforgiving hooves. I don't break its gaze – not for a second – as I run at it, twisting to the side only at the last instant to avoid getting gorged. The wind as it passes me is foul with the smell of animal sweat and rotten breath and I laugh at the simplicity of this fight.

There is no Blood Challenge. There are no Gerudo, no crowd. There's just me and this monster. Or maybe I have that backwards. Maybe we're both monsters. This Beast versus that one.

It does even bother trying to stop itself. It crashes into the fence and sets the whole apparatus quaking with the impact, even as I skid to a stop in the opposite corner and turn to face it, stance wide, arms out, hands open and curved to display talons I don't actually have. I grin a jackal's grin as Gigantor turns to face me again, angrier than ever, but slow, stunned by its impact with the fence.

I could jump on it now, mount it quick and earn my team some points.

But I don't.

I meet its defiant stare with my own and snarl at it with a rage that is instinctive and undeniable. I don't care about points right now. I don't care about anything except proving to this idiot pig that it _can't_ defy me. _Nothing_ defies me. It _will_ submit. I will _make_ it.

In a distant, helpless way I realize that the rage and hunger I can smell are mine. The fear is its.

Inexplicably from somewhere outside my pen, the irresistible scent of warm blood mingles with everything else and it may as well be a metaphysical oil slick in my soul, because I suddenly find myself sliding deeper inward.

Despair snakes its way around my heart as the Beast roars to the forefront and I leap to meet the boar's charge head on.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Hunter was not in the Dark World. He was not in a swamp, surrounded by feral Gerudo cheering for a monster trying to tear him apart. His life, and the lives of people very important to him were not on the line, and nothing in the world was particularly urgent.

He was standing in the field at Lon Lon Ranch, watching a horse pace back and forth in front of him. The ugliest, smelliest horse he'd ever seen, but still a horse on the inside.

"That's right," he said slowly, calmly, "I'm not going to hurt you. And you're not going to hurt me either. You want this. You were _made_ for this."

Ganon's army had needed mounts when they were created – beasts as fierce and violent as their masters, but beasts made for riding nonetheless. They had no other purpose. This would work.

This had to.

All around him the sounds of the others battling with their helboars faded away, the crowd faded away, he put them all aside because right now they didn't matter. They couldn't matter. Not if he was going to do this.

"They didn't give me a rope," he told the 'horse'. It grunted at him, flashed its tusks in a threatening gesture. "And I don't have a few days to do this properly." It narrowed its eyes and lowered its head, prepping for the charge. Hunter resisted the urge to tense, kept his stance loose and fluid. "This is going to be rough on both of us," he told it.

The boar squealed its vicious agreement and charged, closing the gap between them at alarming speed.

Hunter waited until he could have reached out and touched its froth-riddled snout before making his move. He leapt backward onto the fence at the last possible minute, and pushed himself off it and through the air over the helboar and its furious charge before it could strike him. The animal screamed at him in rage and scrambled to twist, mid-charge, before it could strike the fence. Hunter did not give it the chance to complete its turn. The instant his feet touched down he twisted and leapt again, landing roughly on the monster's back.

A great, angry cry went up from the crowd, but he toned it out along with everything else, unable to spend any focus on interpreting what it meant. The sudden weight had startled the helboar and drove its rage to even greater heights. It took off at a run again and it was suddenly all Hunter could do to bury his hands in the thick bristles and clamp his legs around its middle. It drove itself into one fence, and then another.

As it spun and leapt and screamed, Hunter closed his eyes, tightened his grip, and prayed.

***

"The Sheikah is first to mount! Two points!"

The no-longer-scowling Red offered the young man – currently with his eyes closed and hanging on for dear life as his helboar tried its best to shake him off – a whoop and a harsh cackle; a counterpoint to the angry cry from the Gerudo audience.

The dog-eared purple to her right snorted and raised an eyebrow at her. "Cheering for the enemy, Anahti?" she demanded, drawing the attention of a few others.

The smile dropped from the Red's face and her lips twisted back into their customary scowl as she leveled a burning glare on the younger woman. "Cheering for something exciting finally happening in this Goddess forsaken place," she snapped. "When was the last time we had a show like this, huh?"

Another woman, seated in the row below hers, scoffed in disbelief. "You should be cheering for Ciardi's team! For the real Gerudo!" she said. A full-wolf near her growled in agreement.

"Apheri is mounted!" called the Arbiter from far below, and almost immediately thereafter, "Apheri is thrown!"

"I tell you what," snarled Anahti angrily, getting to her feet, "when our 'real' Gerudo stop getting their rear ends handed to them by the Toothless Wonder and her two little _boys_ , I'll start cheering for them again."

"They won the first stage!" cried the purple angrily, glaring up at her, ears twitching.

Anahti's ears flicked back to lay flat against her head and her lips pulled back even further from her teeth. "Nobernal won the first stage," she corrected her as several of the women around them got to their feet, watching the exchange with interest. "Lierana threw a child's tantrum and Ciardi nearly violated the terms of the Challenge. I expect better from any I would call Sister."

"Ciardi is mounted! Apheri is mounted!"

"She has a point," noted a white nearby, leaning lazily back in her seat and looking intrigued by the growing tension. "I'm with her."

"Apheri is thrown! Lierana is mounted!"

"Traitors, both of you!" cried the purple. "How can you—?"

But Anahti had done a tally of the woman in the immediate vicinity that she expected would side with her and had decided it was more than enough. She raised a lupine hand and struck the purple across the face with the back of it, sending her spinning and tripping down a level to land on the woman in front of her. The wolf beside them turned and snapped at one of them, but a woman a level further down than that turned to jump up and tackle the wolf.

Someone from behind Anahti leapt onto her back, and they toppled down to the ground, sending the nearby women scattering into each other. Anahti threw an elbow into her attacker's face and twisted to drive a knee into her gut, which was more than enough to send the other woman tumbling down over the bleachers, striking several others on her way down.

And as simply as that, an entire section of the audience turned in on itself with a vicious snarl and explosive force.

"Oops," said Anahti, picking herself up with a malicious smile, "I seem to have started a riot."

And the Arbiter's startled call of: "The Sheikah is first to break! Five points!" went unheard by the crowd.

***

Hunter stayed where he was for a long moment after his mount had stopped racing frantically around the ring. He was panting as hard as it was, more than a little dizzy, and lacking any real confidence in the strength of his stomach.

"Good boy," he managed breathlessly, patting the beast's thick neck weakly. "Knew you'd give in eventually."

Which was perhaps the most complete lie he'd ever told himself.

When he was able to uncrimp his hands from where they'd been locked in a death grip in the helboar's fur, he straightened on its back and stared around, intending to take stock of the situation. Before he could register who was on their mounts and who wasn't, however, his eyes fell on the stands where the crowd was sitting.

It occurred to him, blinking several times to make sure he was seeing what he was, in fact, seeing, that 'sitting' was not an appropriate word for what the crowd was doing. One of the stands arranged for the women to sit in to watch had dissolved into a mass melee worthy of the roughest, toughest taverns in Hyrule. And several women from the other stands were jumping down and rushing over – whether to try to stop it or to join in he couldn't tell.

"Lierana is the third to break! And someone break up that fight!" screamed the Arbiter, doing her best to ignore the growing riot and keep her eyes on the Challenge.

He turned quickly to peer around at the other Challengers. Ciardi and Lierana both sat – panting as bad as he was – atop their mounts. Half of Lierana's face was already swelling badly and Ciardi was gripping her own shoulder and appeared to be trying to push it back into place. He could see Apheri on her mount, hands buried deep in its fur, a look of intense concentration on her face as it spun her around. Its movements were slower than he would have expected, however. More sluggish. She was wearing it down.

He caught only a flash of green from Link's pen, as the Hero of Time danced with the giant boar he'd had the ill fortune to draw from the hat. Hunter frowned. Something strange was happening there – it didn't look like Link was even trying to mount the creature.

But then his eyes fell on Nobernal's pen and he forgot completely about Link.

***

The Hero of Time was lost deep within the rage in his own heart. He was completely unaware of the world around him. Completely unaware of anything except the pain in his shoulder and his ribs and his leg. Except the rapidly shrinking defiance in the only good eye the monstrous boar had left. Except the blood on his hands, sticky and sour smelling and _beautiful_ , and the overpowering smell of it all around him. More than he had spilled. More than he _could_ spill in his current form, no claws to tear, no teeth to rend. Nothing but soft flesh and weak bone.

He was not aware of the fact that the Arbiter had not called it when Apheri's mount broke and the wolf-legged Gerudo was finally able to straighten tiredly on its back. Not aware of the Arbiter's assistants, coming to stand beside her and stare as well in the direction of her stunned gaze. He was not aware of the creeping growth of the silence as the crowd slowly began to realize that something else was happening and the riot came to a slow, struggling stop as they all turned to stare as well.

Even the helboar seemed to realize there was a world beyond its current conflict. It threw a dazed look around, then huffed, blood flecked spittle dusting its lips, and finally closed its eyes. Its knees buckled and it collapsed to the ground, panting with pain-filled wheezes, all signs of defiance gone.

For a brief moment, the thing that had once been the Hero exulted in its triumph. Its opponent was done, had submitted. The fight was over, and he had won, but it was not enough. Not enough that it had realized its place. Not enough that it had shown him its throat. It wouldn't be enough – _couldn't_ be enough – until he had ended it for having ever thought it stood a chance. A lesson to any others, to _all_ others.

He started forward, but something – not him – screamed from beyond the pen. A scream of rage and pain. A tortured scream that spoke of impossible burdens and a load beyond bearing. The sound of it ricocheted through him, like lightning. It shook him to his heart, it splintered the grip of his rage.

He came back to himself as suddenly as a drowning man breaks the surface of the ocean, muscles burning, lungs afire, gasping and shaking and disoriented.

A shadow fell over him, then, and only instincts and muscle memory, honed through too many years fighting for survival, saved him. He leapt back as something fell hard into the spot where he'd been, landing square between himself and the defeated boar. Something large and heavy and wet.

It was a head, or had been. Gore spilling from every gouge and wound and gaping hole. Half its jaw missing, only a single, broken tusk to stand as testament to what it had been. Its eyes were empty sockets, blood pooling in the space where its angry, porcine orbs should have been.

Sick to his stomach at the sight – too close to what he, himself, had been about to do – the Hero of Time turned to stare with everyone else.

***

##  **Chapter 23 (cont.)**

Nobernal's scream ends in a ragged fit of coughing, sending droplets of blood flying from the ends of her unkempt hair. None of it hers. She's covered in it – blood and other gore – and surrounded by a collection of pieces of what was supposed to have been her mount. She's torn it to shreds and thrown it all around the pen. In one hand she grips the boar's missing tusk.

"Stop," she hisses hoarsely, turning her face away from the horrified crowd. Her thin lips part to show her blood-covered fangs behind the curtain of thin hair. "Stop looking at me! Stop! Stop!" Her voice is twisted and cracked. Something in the sound of it, some note of legitimate pain, causes a stab of unexpected sympathy to pierce through the fear and revulsion. I turn my face away.

"Nobernal." Ciardi's voice is like a whip, cold and hard and barbed – no sympathy there. Nobernal flinches and whimpers softly. "Go to my tent and stay there until I come for you."

Face twisted with dread, Nobernal does what she's told. She spreads her tattered wings and takes off, soaring over the bleachers toward Ciardi's tent. The audience makes a startled sound and scatters out of her path.

One of the Arbiter's assistants bravely clears her throat in the silence that follows. She takes the opportunity to turn away from Nobernal's handiwork. "How many points would that be?" she asks weakly.

The Arbiter continues to blink after Nobernal and appears at a loss. "I…I don't know. Nobody's ever…killed their own mount before. It's not covered under the rules…." Her face grows resolute and she gestures for her assistants to join her. They crowd around each other in a huddle and immediately begin arguing over how to interpret this recent turn of events in terms of points because that is obviously the only sensible reaction possible.

Ciardi throws a dark look around at the crowd – who are stirring unhappily and beginning to murmur in unfriendly ways – and the huddle of arbiters, heatedly discussing how many points that should or should not cost Ciardi's team. The golden-eyed woman scowls and climbs down off her mount to approach the Arbiter. The Green looks up as she nears and gestures for her assistants to continue without her. She turns and meets Ciardi half-way. They exchange a few, short words, and the Arbiter nods. Ciardi raises her voice to address the crowd.

"We will take an hour's break," she shouts. "The Arbiters need time to come to a decision."

"And Ciardi needs time to manipulate them," I hear a bitter voice note from behind me. I turn away from Ciardi as the crowd begins to disperse and blink more than a little blindly at Apheri and Hunter who have come up to the other side of the fence. Apheri is frowning after her ex-leader. "The death of the rider would have cost her five points – the only logical interpretation is that the death of a mount should _also_ cost five points."

"Ah," says Hunter, climbing the fence to lean down to offer me a hand up, "but if she lost five points now there'd be no point in continuing, as there wouldn't be enough points left for her to win this round anyway. Her team would have to forfeit."

I take Hunter's hand, tired beyond words suddenly, and let him help me up the fence and over to the other side. "Link, are you okay?" he asks, frowning darkly. "You're white as a sheet."

"Yeah," I say, waving him off. "No, I'm fine. I just…had a moment, but I'm fine now."

Hunter purses his lips and I can see in his face he doesn't believe me. "I caught the tail end of your fight. The look on your face…wasn't you." He waits for me to state the obvious. When instead my expression tightens and I look away, he states it for me, because he's helpful like that. "You lost yourself."

"I did," I admit, pushing past him and moving after the crowd, "but I'm back now and it's fine, Hunter." I can feel his eyes boring into the back of my head so I stop and heave a heavy sigh. "We only have an hour's break," I say without looking at him. "And I feel like I've been run over by, oh, I don't know, a giant pig. Like, a hundred times. Which, you know, I have." I turn and give him a pleading look. "So if we could not spend this hard-earned break reliving the last ten minutes that would be great, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Hunter purses his lips, because of course he can't. "Link, this is serious. It's only noon. The sun's at its zenith and the moon's about as far away as it can be. If you're losing control this early—"

"I am _not_ losing control," I snarl harshly. A sudden surge of anger gives me an unexpected shot of energy. For a brief moment the various aches and pains echoing throughout my entire frame fade into the background. Hunter stops in surprise, taken aback. "I _lost_ control. Past tense. I got it back. It's fine. Let it go – nobody was hurt."

He stares at me for a moment, his face darkening by degrees. "Is that so?" he asks sharply. "Your mount looks pretty roughed up to me, Link. In an hour you're going to have to get on it and try to fight other people – and just in case you've forgotten, _all_ of our lives are at stake in that. How well do you think that poor beast is going to hold up after the beating you gave it? Couple that with the _completely unnecessary_ injuries _you_ sustained fighting it, and something tells me you're going to cost us more than points."

"I didn't cost us any points," I snap. "Nobernal didn't even mount her damn pig."

"Luck," he says, and there's something hard and unforgiving in his voice. "And you'll forgive me if I don't want anything even remotely like Nobernal on my team."

"What are you saying?" I snarl. "That I'm like _her_? Don't be a—"

His arm snaps out to grab my shoulder and wrench me around to stare back at the pens. Gigantor is a shadow of his former glory, curled in a corner of his pen, as far away from the grotesque head as he can be. The giant beast licks at its wounds and bruises with a black tongue, still wheezing and huffing. The only eye it's got that isn't swollen shut is angry and confused as only a wounded animal's can be. One of its legs looks suspiciously limp. Hunter wasn't joking – poor bastard's going to have a hard time in the next phase of this round.

My eyes go against my will to the eyeless husk in the middle of the pen and I'm suddenly aware of the dark, sticky stains on my hands. My stomach turns and I feel sick again.

Hunter's right.

It was only luck I didn't take it that far.

The sprains, strains, bruises and cuts I earned against Gigantor reassert themselves viciously and whatever energy I had leaves me as suddenly as it came. "All right," I concede hoarsely, turning away. "Point taken."

I continue on toward the common tent, painfully aware of the look Hunter and Apheri exchange behind my back.

***

Everyone else is already in the common tent when we arrive, most of them not having had to stop back at their own tents to salve and bandage various wounds (though I can't help but notice several swollen eyes, dark bruises and limps around the room – must have been a Hell of a brawl. I'm a little put out I wasn't at the centre of it). There is the expected, momentary hush when we walk in, but the stares that greet us bear almost none of their former viciousness. In fact, in more than a few faces I see a grudging respect and reluctant curiosity.

Hunter, being Hunter, pretends he is completely unaware of the crowd, but his eyes very subtly roam around the room, taking in the expressions and atmosphere. Apheri appears simultaneously annoyed and confused by the attention. Yesterday morning she was the second highest ranking woman in here. By yesterday afternoon, she was stripped of that and basically dropped down to low woman on the totem pole, no matter the colour of her uniform. And now she finds herself once again somewhere between the two. If you throw in the whole Son of the Wind thing, she's had a rough couple days. I can't really blame her.

For my part, I pause in the doorway to flash my teeth at the lot of them, then turn and proudly display the stained bandages on my shoulder from where Ciardi stabbed me – reopened during my wrestling with Gigantor and burning like Hell right now. "It'll scar nicely, I think, if I keep popping the stitches open," I call loud enough to be heard by all and sundry. They laugh, and I get several raised glasses. If nothing else, they appreciate the show.

I wish I wasn't enjoying it so much myself. Fifteen minutes ago I was sick to my stomach over how easily I'd lost myself to the Beast during the fight with the Helboar. That recognition of the dangerous game I'm playing now has already faded, shoved to the back of my mind where it can't get in the way of me baring my teeth and flashing my muscles and generally being more aggressive than I have a right to be. It just makes Hunter's concern more legitimate, but at the same time I'm having trouble caring for more than five minutes at a time.

I'm trying to care. I really am. I just don't.

It's like I'm drunk or something.

I wish I had more space to focus on it, to work it through, but I've only got some 45 minutes left until I have to face the possibility of my own death for something like the third time today. And that's not even the finale.

And you know what? I don't even care about _that_ as much as I should.

I follow Hunter and Apheri through the tent and continue futilely trying to drum up some concern over the potential consequences of our current situation. As we're moving past the table where Lierana's sitting with her usual assortment of women – most of them red or white – she raises her voice to say with entirely more volume than is required: "I'd be worried if she had any teeth, but we all know she doesn't – metaphorically or otherwise."

Apheri goes stiff and whirls on her heel, jaw locked and eyes blazing. I clench my fists at my side, teeth bared at Lierana's blatant challenge, but – to my surprise – before either Apheri or I can make up for being left out of the earlier riot by starting a new one, Hunter leans across the table, interrupting us both and startling Lierana enough that the latter pulls back. He ignores her and addresses the now-familiar red seated beside her. "I'm sorry," he says to her politely, as though she hadn't spent the morning mocking him for practicing his archery, "I freely admit I'm not entirely familiar with the intricate rules involved in this Challenge, but say, hypothetically, the score was something like…oh, I don't know…ten to nothing," he pauses for dramatic effect, "the team with ten points is the one that's winning, right?"

The red's lips twist up into one of the meanest smirks I've ever seen in my life. "Ooo," she coos and plays along as naturally as though the two had practiced this, "and he's smarter than he looks. That is correct, Sheikah. Hypothetically speaking, if the score were ten to nothing, the team with ten points would be winning."

"Oh good," he says, and smiles in a relieved fashion. "I'm glad I've understood. Could you do me a huge favour? Could you tally our points for us? I would hate to count it wrong. How many points does Apheri's team have?"

The red holds out her hand with a flourish and begins a dramatic show of counting on her fingers. I am forced to give her a second look – she is _enjoying_ this. "Well…there's two points for first to mount, five points for first to break, then…two more points for fourth to break and one point for fifth. I believe that puts Apheri's team at…oh, well, would you look at that! Ten points!" She widens her eyes and covers her mouth in a grossly overstated show of mock surprise.

"Oh," says Hunter with his typical subtlety, as though this is genuinely surprising and he's legitimately humble, "I imagine it's probably a very close race then. What with our opponents being so…hmmm," he makes a show of searching for the right word, then turns a hard look on Lierana. "Toothy." He does not remove his gaze when he next addresses the red beside her. "How many points does Lierana's team have, currently?"

"Well, I don't know…give me a moment to calculate it…if you add up all the negatives and take them away from the points they managed to gain…well, what do you know." She offers Lierana a sickly sweet smile that causes the latter's face to flush impressively. "Zero."

Hunter straightens and gives the red a perfunctory nod. "Thank you, ma'am. I appreciate the clarification."

Lierana is on her feet suddenly; face as purple as a young girl's uniform. "The Sheikah was first to mount _and_ first to break," she snarls in a fury. "That has nothing to do with Apheri. And it's hardly a reflection on me if Nobernal is insane and incapable of completing the most basic of challenges."

Hunter doesn't even blink. "Funny," he notes, nonplussed in the face of her rage or the fact that the entire room has gone silent and every pair of eyes is on us, "I thought I heard someone saying the honour of one is the honour of all. I assumed the same went for shame. But, as I've said, I'm not familiar with the nuances of the Challenge. If it will satisfy your curiosity – and I'm sure it will satisfy mine – let's look at it from a purely mechanical standpoint." He turned to the red again. "Would you say it's fair to count any points from the first round of archery as negative points, given that the highest score was the loser that round? And any points gained in this second round so far would count as positives?"

The red, intrigued, leans back in her seat and says, "I would."

"If we are to look _solely_ at the points gained by Apheri and Lierana as individuals – independent of the honour or shame garnered by the rest of their teams – how many points would each have?"

The red is silent for a moment, doing the actual calculations in her head, forgetting, for a moment, her previous show. Eventually a slow, wicked smile tugs her lips across her face. "Well," she says, "I believe they would both be sitting at one point each." A surprised murmur works its way around the room. No one had looked at it from that angle before.

"Ah," says Hunter without emotion. "A tie." He turns back to Lierana and arches a dark eyebrow at her. "Nothing metaphorical about _that_."

Her burning stare follows us all the way across the now silent common room.

"See?" Hunter says quietly as we take our seats at an empty table at the back of the room. "Not every problem needs to be solved with a Blood Challenge or a punch in the face."

"What makes you think I was going to solve it by punching her?" I demand. Behind us the room returns to its previous noise level, now with the addition of heated conversations and arguments all throughout.

"Past experience," he responds, giving me a dull look. "The look on your face specifically said: 'I am going to punch you. I am going to punch you very hard.' I didn't just go through what I went through with that Helboar for you to violate the terms of the Challenge and get us killed on a technicality."

"She would have deserved it!" I attempt to defend myself, but he raises a finger to cut me off.

"Technicality," he repeats.

"Thank you," Apheri says, if grudgingly, before I can get louder about defending myself.

"No problem," Hunter says gracefully. "Shared honour and all that. By your own rules she insulted me along with you. I happen to think I have very lovely teeth."

She stares blankly at him for a moment, then offers him a wide grin. "I thought you didn't get the nuances."

"It was noted not more than thirty seconds ago that I am smarter than I look," he points out dryly. "On top of that, I happen to be a very nuanced fellow. It helps that I have spent enough time with your lovely people over the last few, ill-spent years that I think I am actually starting to be able to warp my mind enough to understand them. Or at least predict them. Exhibit A: Mr. Punchy."

"She would have deserved it!"

"Technicality!"

"We should probably—" Apheri starts to say but she's cut off by an offended cry from behind us.

"Anahti!"

The score-counting red – on her feet and moving away from Lierana's table – pauses and turns back to face Lierana. "What?" she demands.

"I was talking," Lierana snaps. "Where are you going?"

Anahti does not even bother answering the question. Instead she runs an idle finger down the cut on her cheek. "So talk," she says with an uncaring shrug. "Plenty of ears left to hear you." Then turns her back on Lierana and continues on her way.

I turn back to my own table. "Wonder what that was about," I say.

Apheri straightens suddenly. "She's coming here." I blink and turn just as Anahti comes to a stop behind us. Her grin is wide and feral.

"Is this seat taken?" she asks.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

It didn't take long for the previously empty table to fill up. In fact, the entire process took far less time than Anahti had predicted it would, and netted some bigger leevers than she'd thought. Lierana's little lap dogs stayed right where they were, of course, but a few of Ciardi's – emboldened by their illustrious leader's absence and their general distaste of Lierana – wandered over to congratulate Apheri and her team on their performance so far before wandering away again. Short enough interactions to avoid being seen as betraying Ciardi, but significant enough to make clear their opinion of Lierana.

The others that came over, though – unaligned and unafraid – took their seats and stayed there, chatting animatedly with each other, _and_ with Apheri _and_ her unusual teammates. Apheri had chosen the wisest route, and was currently pretending that the previous day had never happened, that she had never fallen out of grace, and everything was exactly as it should be. For the time being, those at the table with her had made the same choice.

The Sheikah appeared to have found himself in the centre of a swirling mass of arguments, nettling, and grudging admiration of how quickly he had broken the boar. He handled the conversation better than one would expect of a Sheikah, but never once dropped the formality that she suspected was his shield. This only served to embolden the lupine women harassing him and she was sure it wouldn't be long before bets started getting laid on who would be the first to crack his face into something that wasn't a calculated, cultivated balance of polite disinterest and nonchalant detachment.

By contrast, there was nothing disinterested or detached in the blonde man's face. In fact, he could not have seemed more at home. He coasted on the conversation, easily moving from one topic to the next with a grace born of practice – nothing the women threw at him phased him; he knew the answers to all their riddles, could finish their stories, knew when to rise to the bait and when to let it wash over and past him as though it was nothing. He ceded to all the right women, challenged all the right women, spoke softly where expected and harshly when appropriate. He looked at each of them and his unnaturally blue eyes weighed, judged, and reacted to each woman as an individual, and each woman as what she was.

This man had eaten with Gerudo before – King or not, there was no denying that. He had sat at their tables and won their respect. He was doing it right in front of her. He had been here less than a week, the Challenge had been on for less than _a day_ , and there wasn't a woman at that table – hardened veterans, all – that wasn't eating out of his hand. Loyalties were shifting _as she watched_ , and Anahti was fascinated by the entire process.

But not so fascinated as to forget her own game.

And her game was afoot.

Lierana – with angry, jealous eyes that continued to slide back over to the rowdy table at the back – finally cracked. Something hard and ugly settled into the centre of her face and she leaned over to say something to the woman beside her, then got to her feet and began working her way through the room toward the door.

No one except Anahti noticed her leave, which, Anahti was sure, must have burned the petty woman more than Apheri's sudden resurgence in popularity, or the fact that some of the women would rather speak to a Sheikah and a Fake King than her.

Grinning widely, Anahti allowed the conversation around her to continue on minus her contributions, then got up and slipped away from the table with a quick excuse. None of the others at the table seemed to care, but the Sheikah caught her eye on the way out. His face was as neutral as it had been all day, but in his blue-green gaze she caught some inkling of suspicion.

She couldn't help herself. She winked at him.

Trust a Sheikah to sniff out a trouble maker.

She slid out of the common tent and into the ample shadows beyond. Lierana wasn't hard to find – true to her usual lack of subtlety, she had taken the most direct route back to her own tent. Anahti spotted her just as she threw back the flaps angrily and strode in. Eyes bright and ears alert, the red dropped into a crouch in the dark, glittering eyes never leaving the tent. A lamp was lit within, and she could hear the muffled sounds of shuffling. Lierana was looking for something.

Anahti was unable to stop grinning. She felt energized in a way she had not in ages. Like one waking from a long night's sleep, fully rested and ready for the day. That, in and of itself, was not unusual. The Blood Challenge had stirred up chaos and tension in all corners of their dreary little never-changing camp, and however dim her memories of her life before the Mire were, Anahti knew deep in her heart that she had always been a child of bedlam. She thrived on it, lived for it, and the Dark World had only heightened her hunger for it.

But it went beyond that. She could smell a sudden energy in the others that hadn't been there before. It made them sharp, it made them angry, it had given them all an edge that had been lacking. It was like lightning, arcing from one woman to the next and shifting everything so subtly it was unnoticeable unless you knew where to look.

And Anahti knew where to look. She had noticed it first in Apheri. Apheri who had struggled every day of her life to prove herself. Apheri who had barely won her place on the King's mission to the dark world. Apheri who had clawed and scraped her way to the White, who had earned it long before they gave it to her, because she didn't know how to fight outside the ring. She had always been weak, politically. Unable to rally supporters, unable to hold them long when she had them. Instead she struggled to arrange her circumstances such that supporting her was a logical choice. Her tenuous grip had started to crumble months ago, and Ciardi choosing Lierana as second had ruined her completely, or so they all thought.

Outside the ring, Apheri was weak. But as a woman she was strong. She stood well, she fought well, and – most importantly – when they had all thought her done and finished, she found fire from somewhere else to light her own candle again. Anahti had seen it in her the _moment_ the blonde man had chosen her as his third. It lit her flame again from the inside out, returned her fighting spirit to her. She had been discarded by the woman she had fought so hard to prove herself to, but she stood there when he called her name, and her back had straightened and her face had hardened and for the briefest of moments all watching could see her as she had been, when they had _all_ been younger women, when they had first crossed over into the Sacred Realm.

The whole event had whispered in Anahti's heart, spoke to things long buried, memories too far gone to be remembered but for vague recollections of a smell, a sound, every now and then a face.

And Anahti wasn't sure that that fire hadn't been lit within her as well. For the first time in a long time, she was looking around her and _seeing_ things. Seeing them for what they were. There were cracks in Ciardi's team, cracks in the camp as a whole. Cracks so large she could not believe she hadn't seen them before – _she_ who was drawn to cracks in any system like a moth to a flame!

Just yesterday Ciardi had seemed untouchable – secure in the King's favour, able to command an _Avatar_ as though it was nothing more than a beast. A sullen animal that needed nothing more than a sharp word and a good kick to learn its place.

But today Anahti was not so sure. Apheri had been weak, certainly, and Lierana stronger in support, stronger politically speaking. But as a woman? Lierana was weak and Anahti had never held much but contempt for her. Not strong enough to stand on her own, Lierana had supporters because Lierana _needed_ supporters. Without them, she would fall. Just the thought of it was enough to curl Anahti's lip into a sneer.

Just how strong could Ciardi be, if that was the woman she chose as her second?

And Nobernal? The corrupted Sentinel was no more an Avatar these days than Anahti was a leever. Whatever glory the wretched creature had once known was gone now. In the end, what difference _was_ there, between Nobernal and a beast?

And what of Apheri's team? A Sheikah and a boy who appeared little more than a Hylian with more bravado than brains. A Sheikah who had neither cracked nor flinched beneath the vitriol Anahti and her sisters had leveled at him since his appearance. A Sheikah who accepted a Gerudo as a teammate as though that was the most natural thing in the world. A Sheikah who had, in the middle of a crowded tent filled to the brim with his ancient enemies, called out Ciardi's second and soundly trounced her without throwing so much as a single blow. In defense of a Gerudo, no less.

And as for the other boy…if what Apheri said was true…

If he _was_ a Son of the Wind…

But her train of thought was broken as Lierana reappeared, slipping out of her tent with a furtive glance around. In her hands she held a small green vial, which she slipped uneasily into her belt before moving in the direction of the tent currently being used by the two men. Anahti's lips slid up into a derisive grin and she gave a low chuckle as she moved out of the shadows and toward Lierana's tent.

The woman wasn't even clever enough to be subtle about her intentions. She was as easy to read as the sky on a clear day.

"Oh Lierana," she cooed to herself as she slipped through the flaps and into the elaborate tent. She peered around until she spotted the small chest set on a table near the weapon rack. The lid still lay open from when Lierana had dug around within, a small vial of clear liquid laying next to an indent designed for a matching vial. Anahti reached in and lifted the tiny glass bottle, grinning broadly. "How I look forward to watching you hang yourself."

***

"The current score is ten to zero for the Challenger," called the Arbiter over the raucous noise of the gathered crowd. "Moving forward, first blood won will award five points. First blood lost costs three. Dismounting an opponent is worth one. For destroying her mount, Nobernal will not be permitted to take part in the mounted combat. This disadvantage is deemed appropriate punishment for her failure. In the event of a tie, Nobernal's shame will be judged to be a negative point for her team."  
Nobernal scowled. She snapped her wings and struggled with the sudden itch crawling up her legs and into her spine as the crowd – largely unhappy with the ruling – turned to look at her. She wanted to yell and scream at them. She wanted to shout that it wasn't her fault. That their silly mortal games were stupid anyway. That the beast had brought it on itself by cowering in a corner and refusing to allow her to approach it.

She saw again, for a brief moment, herself through its eyes. A pile of rotting flesh and broken bone, knit together with magic instead of thread, held tight by the Master's will. A terrible, unnatural creature; a predator and a threat; a cancer on the world. She cried out in rage and struck the ground in a fury to drive the image away.

She should not have taken its eyes. She should have known better. Animal eyes were not good. Too true. To clear. Only mortal eyes. Hooded and blinded. Only mortal eyes should be consumed. Only those.

The itching went away and she drew in a deep breath. When she looked up the combat had started, drawing the crowd's attention as the mortals and the monster launched themselves forward, their mounts' great hooves tearing up the ground with the force of their charges. The clash of metal and flesh, the roar of battle, and smell of chaos pulled her to her feet.

She remembered other battles, other fights – even other Blood Challenges! But none of them her own. They were stolen memories, dancing like ghosts in her mind. She knew she had fought her own battles, the music of the combat sang to her in a way that had nothing to do with pilfered eyes, but she could not bring them to mind. Could not remember the times she must have fought as they did now. The times before the chains and cages.

And she knew from past experience that trying to would only hurt. Would cut her to the quick, would set the dark things in her mind scrambling and slashing. The thought was enough to cause her to flinch away from the memories she didn't have anymore. She stepped nervously to the side, as though she could put physical distance between herself and them.

She turned her empty sockets toward Ciardi and made a small, unhappy noise. She hoped Ciardi would win. The mortal woman had been very angry – very, very angry – over what Nobernal had done. She had said Nobernal had ruined everything. She said that Nobernal had made them lose the round. She had said that the Master would not be happy when she told him what Nobernal had done, and Nobernal had sobbed and thrown herself on the ground and begged her not to tell him. Ciardi told her he would put her back in the cages and she would never see the light of day again and Nobernal had only cried harder and hid her face and trembled like a leaf at the thought.

And then Ciardi had sighed heavily and patted her head and told her that she would try to make it better, even though Nobernal had made that very difficult. That she would talk to the Arbiter and make sure they still had a chance to right things. That she would not tell the Master what Nobernal had done _yet_ , that she would protect her from his wrath _for now_. As long as she did what she was told and didn't ruin anything else.

And so she had to sit on the sidelines and watch the combat instead of helping because that stupid animal was too pure-sighted to let her ride it like it was supposed to do. But that was what Ciardi had told her to do, so that's what she would do.

A great roar rose up from the crowd – excited, angry, happy, disappointed all at once – and the sharp scent of fresh blood mingled with everything else. One of the ghosts in Nobernal's head mused critically: _Clean charges from both Ciardi and Apheri, but Apheri's defence wavered oddly at the last second, allowing Ciardi's blade to cut her shoulder. Something else happened there, but it's not clear what._

"First blood to Ciardi! Plus five points for Ciardi! Minus three for Apheri!"

"Something is wrong with her blood," Nobernal told the ghost, hopping from foot to foot and searching for the scent of it on the air again. "It doesn't smell right."

Apheri's face was a mask of rage as a thick line of blood began to ooze down her arm, but beneath the anger and frustration was something else. Her eyes were glassy in a way they shouldn't have been, her face paler than such a minor wound could have caused. When she raised a hand to her bloodied shoulder it was shaking.

The Sheikah seemed to have noticed something, because he called out to her, but the sound was drowned out beneath the thundering of his mount's hooves as he drove it to intercept Lierana. The latter had taken advantage of Apheri's distraction and tried to charge into her before she could turn her mount to meet the charge properly. Lierana barely had time to turn her own to meet the Sheikah's charge, and the sound of their clash seemed to rouse Apheri from her stupor. She turned her mount back to the battle.

Behind them, Ciardi and the Bearer of Courage were circling each other – Ciardi's boar was proud and strong, practically strutting beneath her as she prodded it with her heels. The Bearer's boar, on the other hand, was dragging its feet and panting in a tortured way. Its only good eye shot from side to side, as though seeking escape, but when the monster on its back drove his heels in, it leapt forward obediently, more than a little off-target. Swearing furiously, the Bearer raised his shield to fend off Ciardi's mighty blow as they crossed paths, but, thanks to the awkward angle of his half-blind mount, was unable to return her swing.

The Leader of the Gerudo pulled her boar around in a neat, tight circle and charged once more at the Bearer of Courage. He was snarling, more beast than the beast beneath him, as he drove his heels cruelly into its sides, trying to turn it, but the foul creature had nothing left to give. It squealed in protest as it tried to obey, but it wasn't in time. The monster riding it raised his shield futilely as Ciardi's boar crashed headfirst into his.

The mighty tusks of Ciardi's boar tore through its wounded compatriot, lifted it off its feet and hurled it backward. The motion, combined with Ciardi's vicious strike against the man's shield sent him flying from his saddle. He hit the ground with impressive force, and half skidded half rolled away from his mount. He did not get up again.

Both the Sheikah and Apheri cried out in alarm, but they – and the arbiter, announcing that Ciardi had earned another point by dismounting the monster – were drowned out by the angry roar of the crowd as Ciardi did not bother trying to rout her mount's furious charge, even though she was headed directly for her prone, unmoving opponent. The crowd went riotous with boos and angry calls and a strange, animal fury.

The Sheikah moved liked lightning, urging his boar into a frantic charge, ignoring everything around him. His face was stone, unmoving and unforgiving, as he cut directly in front of Ciardi, forcing her to rein in her mount or be cut down by the Sheikah's blade, to a great cheer from the crowd.

A cheer that strangled itself half-way through as Lierana, hot on the Sheikah's heels, slammed the pommel of her sword into his back on her way by him – a vicious, dishonourable blow – sending him toppling from his saddle to land on the ground in the midst of a deadly flurry of pounding hooves.

"One point to Lierana!" called the Arbiter over the crowd's chanting of the word "coward" over and over. "The score is seven to seven. Next point wins!" Several of the arbiter's assistants moved in to pull the two men from the arena as Ciardi and Lierana separated again.

The chanting paused long enough for the crowd to cheer inexplicably at the Sheikah as he miraculously managed to limp away under his own power. He approached his unmoving friend as the latter was dragged backward by the green-uniformed women.

The pause lasted only a moment, however, and then the chanting resumed: "Coward! Coward! Coward!" Lierana scowled furiously at the crowd, but they only chanted louder. Her face turned bright red and she began to yell justifications for the from-behind attack at them, but the crowd grew louder still. So incensed was she by their reactions she almost failed to notice Apheri's mount, bearing down on her now that the field had been cleared of Apheri's unfortunate team mates. Only an angry shout from Ciardi alerted Lierana to the approaching danger, and she brought her shield up in time to block Apheri's blow.

The crowd broke off their chanting, murmuring in surprise. The charge had been clean, and Apheri's prowess was well known. Even if she managed to block it, Lierana should have been sent flying, and yet she remained in her saddle. Apheri had somehow fumbled the blow.

Cursing softly, aware that something was seriously wrong and growing worse every second, Apheri brought her mount to a stop in the centre of the arena. She was having trouble breathing and her vision kept swimming in and out. The crowd watched, perplexed, as she swayed unsteadily in her seat.

Lierana and Ciardi slowed their own beasts to flank their only remaining opponent and the crowd quieted as the tension in the camp ratcheted itself up to an almost unbearable degree. Even Nobernal stopped her restless pacing, standing straight as a board, her empty sockets trained on the conflict before her.

"Next point wins," the arbiter reminded everyone needlessly as the three Challengers stared each other down.

Apheri's face was alarmingly pale, and a sheen of sweat stood out brightly on her forehead. Her arm was covered in blood and the shaking in her hands appeared to have moved to the rest of her. She struggled valiantly against a fierce tremble attempting to shake her body. Ignoring all of this, she watched her opponents like a hawk, eyes hard, back unbowed.

Ciardi moved first, urging her beast forward with a sharp cry. Lierana was slower to react, but followed suit. Apheri did not charge to meet either of them.

Instead, she stayed where she was and threw her shield to the ground, earning a startled gasp from the crowd. She wrapped her forearm hastily in the reins, tangling it tightly to compensate for her inexplicably weak grip, and tensed as her Sisters closed in.

At the last possible second she threw herself sideways in the saddle, slipping under Ciardi's blade as the latter passed by her from behind. This whistle of it slicing through the air was close enough to cause a shiver to run down Apheri's spine that had nothing to do with her sudden trembling.

The move left her hanging sideways from her mount's saddle, lupine legs clenched with all their considerable strength to keep herself off the ground, her injured arm gripping the tangled reins in a death-clasp.

Lierana realized what was happening too late. Seconds after Ciardi had passed on the left, she arrived on the right– the same side Apheri hung from. She brought her blade down, hoping to strike before Apheri, but was not nearly fast enough. Apheri swung her sword with a furious cry at the charging boar's legs. The razor-sharp blade bit deep – the beast's momentum doing most of the work for her – and sent the boar screaming and stumbling. Lierana was forced to abandon her blow in the futile hopes of keeping her seat.

Shrieking in pain the boar staggered away, each step making its wounds worse, until finally it stumbled and fell heavily, throwing Lierana from the saddle and into the muddy ground.

"No!" Ciardi shrieked as the crowd threw itself to its feet with a tumultuous cheer.

"One point to Apheri!" screamed the Arbiter, attempting to swallow her own excitement and remain unbiased. "The score is eight to seven! Apheri's team wins the second round!"

"NO!" Ciardi shrieked again.

The sound brought a weak smile to Apheri's lips as she let go of her mount's reins and toppled to the ground. She tried to lift herself to her feet again, but her arms shook at the effort and gave out. She rolled over onto her back and watched the sky blur in an increasingly dramatic fashion, until finally she closed her eyes and allowed herself to pass out.

***

Liam rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Everything all right?" asked the young, dark-haired nobleman behind the whole situation.

Liam met his curious gaze and looked away again shyly. He couldn't get used to camaraderie from the higher-born. Certainly there had always been a degree of friendship, or at least a token effort, made by those in power, but that was only because of his former position as the Captain of the Castletown Guard – a position he recognized he had been pushed into far too young and early in his career, specifically because those that put him there hoped he would be more malleable as a result than his predecessor had been. He recognized the tokens of friendship for what they were, returned the efforts with token acceptance, and continued to politely refuse to bend the rules for whoever was offering, much to everyone's consternation.

But it was different with Eldrick – at least since Agahnim had died and Link had disappeared. It had been Eldrick that spoke on Liam's behalf when others had sought to sully his reputation and keep him from revealing Agahnim's true nature. It had been Eldrick that allowed him to speak the truth to the people of Castletown, and had defended him from them when the truth cut deeper than they'd been ready for. And, though he would have thought it impossible, it had been Eldrick that had defended Link in the end, set right the lies that had been spread about the Hero. Despite everything that lay between the two, Eldrick had put that aside to do the right thing at the right moment. Noble in the truest sense of the word.

Eldrick was still peering at him expectantly and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Strange to be breaking in," he explained, braving the young man's intense gaze.

The Head of the House of Eldrick fixed him with a broad smile, bristling with charisma the way some men bristle with weaponry. "Nothing so intoxicating as irony," he said with a soft chuckle. "You break no oaths here, friend. It's a family, not a building or a city that you're sworn to serve. A Kingdom, not a Palace."

"Long live Queen Zelda," said Liam with a stiff nod.

"Long live Queen Zelda," returned Eldrick, clapping him on the shoulder with a strong hand. Seeing on the other man's honest face that the ethics of the mission continued to plague him, however, the young lord sighed. He squeezed Liam's shoulder until the latter looked up at him again. "Liam," he said seriously, "we are doing nothing wrong."

"We're stealing," Liam responded awkwardly. His eyes slipped nervously to the side. "From the _Palace_."

Eldrick appeared affronted. He shook the ex-Captain gently. " _They_ stole from us," he insisted. " _They_ have stolen the Golden Palace. Filled it with traitors. With _Moblins_. _We_ are taking back the weapons we need to rout them."

Liam met his earnest gaze and nodded once, stronger in his resolve. "Okay," he said. "You're right."

"Of course I am," Eldrick responded with a disarming grin. He released Liam's shoulder and threw an impatient look up at the roof above them. The tiled stones that made up the Castletown sewers wove themselves in intricate patterns that would have been beautiful were they not lined with centuries' worth of grime and waste, but directly above the young men the pattern was broken by a flat square of stone that appeared far too utilitarian to be anything other than a trap door. "What's taking them?" Eldrick muttered.

"They're Sheikah," said Liam, as though that answered everything.

Eldrick, for his part, simply smiled back at him and tried not to hate him even more than he already did.

There are times, his father used to say, when a man has to put aside luxury and comfort and make do. Eldrick, for his part, had always assumed this meant that perhaps he would have to give up one of his favourite horses, or settle for a wife less attractive than his previous (and inevitable future) dalliances had been.

He had _not_ thought it meant he would _ever_ find himself crawling around filthy sewers with a ragged band of simpleton commoners and a useless old Sheikah for support. A man of his stature was meant to lead glorious armies, not a collection of unwashed rabble barely fit to lick his boots. There was hardly a man or woman among them that he would not have set the dogs on had they dared to approach him just days ago.

But his father's baritone still rumbled through his mind, echoed painfully in the sudden new hole in his heart. It cut through the disgust, through the arrogance, through the guilt at what his actions had wrought. These things, Eldrick now understood, were the luxuries his father had meant. These were the things he would have to set aside if he was to make do. If he was to do more than make do. He had cost his father his life already – he would not cost him his mission as well.

He turned so Liam could not see his face and closed his eyes against a sudden heat.

Grief, too, was a luxury.

"So," he said after the moment had passed and he was in control of his own expression again, "when all of this is over what awaits you? A handsome young man like you must have a pretty little something pining for him? If not, I'm sure they'll be beating down your door by the time we're through."

Liam blushed so brightly it was clear even in the dim light of the sewers. "No, no," he stammered quickly, displaying a disgusting degree of humility. "I don't…think there's anyone pining."

Eldrick's sharp mouth twisted wickedly. "Come now," he said, "a blush that red and you're telling me there's no one? That your mind didn't immediately jump to a specific pair of lips and a nice set of curves?"

Liam blushed deeper still and Eldrick hated him for the honesty of the emotion. "I…maybe," he admitted. "Yes. She's…there's this one girl, but I…I think I might have screwed it up." His expression turned forlorn. "When Agahnim had me, I…I didn't get the chance to explain. She's not in Castletown anymore, though," he pointed out. "I don't know where she is. She's probably…I probably won't get the chance to explain."

Eldrick made a derisive noise. "Liam, my friend, there is no pursuit so noble as the pursuit of a woman. When this is over you have my solemn vow that I will help you find your lady friend and I will personally vouch for you if she doesn't believe you."

Liam looked startled. "You…really?" he asked, hope brightening his eyes. "She…Marni's very taken with the nobility. She would believe you, I'm sure she would."

"Then consider it done!" said Eldrick firmly. "The least I can do, after all."

"Thank you, my lord," said Liam with genuine warmth. He leaned against the sewer wall and worked up the courage to shoot Eldrick a curious glance. "What about you?"

Eldrick's wicked grin turned positively devilish. "Nothing so specific as to have a name," he said lasciviously. "There are a few women at the Palace that I had my eye on before this whole thing blew up on us, I might pursue one or two of them for a while. Or perhaps not. To be honest, now that I'm thinking about it they all seem a bit boring. They're all brunettes, but so were my last few."

Liam appeared torn between incredulity and amusement. "Perhaps a blonde, then?" he suggested tentatively, unsure of how serious the young lord was being.

"I was thinking a red-head, actually," Eldrick answered without thinking, distracted by a sudden grinding sound from above them. He was saved from Liam's inevitably tedious response as the trap door in the roof was pulled back. When they looked up he met the tired green eyes of the useless old Sheikah.

"We're in," said Brayden. "Signal the others."

***

##  **Chapter 23 (cont.)**

When I come to, I make a noise that sounds kind of like: "urgllugheh?" when, in fact, what I mean to say is: "what happened?" I still hurt in my everywhere, so I know it's still the same day I remember it being _before_ I woke up back in my blankets in my tent. The last thing I remember seeing is tusks the size of my arm, then the sky, then the ground. Then the sky, then the ground, then the sky, then the ground, then the sky, then a long stretch of ground, then nothing.

Just once I'd like to be able to follow the thought 'the last thing I remember is…' with a pleasant memory. Just once.

Hunter, luckily, is fluent in Link and understands what I mean without requiring me to clarify.

"Ciardi's mount totaled yours and sent you flying. You hit your head. Probably a few times. She tried to run you over, but I stopped her. Then Lierana hit me from behind and sent _me_ flying. I hit everything _but_ my head. Then Apheri literally cut the legs out from under Lierana's mount and dismounted Lierana and we won Round 2." I open my mouth to comment on this positive news, but I'm finally alert enough to pick up a strange tension around his eyes and mouth. I frown instead.

"You don't look happy," I note. "What else happened?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, throwing a hard look back at the tent door before shaking his head and turning back to me. "Apheri lost consciousness for no conceivable reason and Lierana said: 'I guess she wasn't strong enough for all this excitement,' which basically earned her the universal hatred of everything in a fifty mile radius, given that she'd just _lost_ to Apheri. Then, over all the booing, Anahti shouted: 'Blackwood Sap will do that to a person. Way to get dismounted by a woman dying of poison, by the way.' Everyone went kind of quiet, then Lierana turned this peculiarly pale shade of purple and I was sad you couldn't see it, because I know you like it when people's faces change colour." I nodded to acknowledge this fact, as Hunter barreled on. "Then Apheri held up this little white vial of what – I found out later – was the antidote to Blackwood Sap, which she had taken from Lierana's tent after watching Lierana take one of only three vials in existence of this Sap and run off towards _our_ tent, where Apheri stopped before the combat started to pick up her gloves. Which Lierana apparently coated in Sap, which is apparently some kind of Dark World contact poison. Then everything got very loud and I had trouble picking out the details." He stops to allow all of this to sink in.

When it does, I sit up with a sharp groan, the implications unfolding unpleasantly in my mind. "Hunter, you're saying Lierana poisoned Apheri?"

"Yes," he says tersely.

I feel my stomach twist. "She cheated."

"Yes," he says again.

"Did they prove—?"

"The three vials are owned by Ciardi, Lierana and Apheri. Ciardi still had hers, and so did Apheri. Lierana tried to say she was being framed, that someone had taken it from her tent and Anahti was lying, but Anahti swore some kind of formal oath and cut her hand and everyone basically believed her. And what I really can't get over is that she knew that before it happened, and she just _sat there_ and let it happen. When I asked her why she didn't say something earlier she just _grinned_ at me – like this freaky, knife-edged grin – and said that that wouldn't have been any fun at all. To be punished, Lierana had to be allowed to cheat. To prove beyond the shadow of a doubt it was her, Lierana had to be allowed to do it."

"How long ago was this?" I ask hoarsely.

"Four hours since they confirmed she cheated. It's nearly seven."

I would ask him what they did about it, but I can tell from the stiffness in his face and the barely contained sneer twitching at the corner of his lips. I frown unhappily. "Hunter—."

"It's barbaric," he cuts me off with a scowl.

"Which is why we don't do it anymore," I respond sharply. "Should I judge the Sheikah by their history?"

"We're not talking history here, Link. We're talking _right now_ , a hundred feet away from our tent."

"It's not—."

"They tied her to a wooden frame," he says, his voice too cold for him to be anything but deeply upset. "Ciardi let them. Didn't even try to stop them. And they were all _smiling_ while they did it. The Arbiter took that knife – the one Ciardi stabbed you with. And she just started cutting. Nothing too deep, nothing fatal, but all of them bleeding. Her arms, her legs, her back and chest and stomach. And the crowd cheered every time the knife came down. Like this is a thing to be celebrated. Like this is _exciting_. Every now and then she walks over to check the wounds and make sure they're not closing up." His face is a little grey, his expression more disgusted than I've ever seen it. "It will probably take her all night to die." He meets my gaze and his blue-green eyes are dark with anger. "I understand violence, Link, and I understand the need for it, the instinct for it, I do. I understand hard rules, and harder punishments. But I don't – I _can't_ – understand this."

I break his gaze and shake my head. "We don't do it anymore," I say again. "This is…the Dark World preying on them. If we were actually in the desert—."

"We're not."

I hesitate, then my shoulders sag. "I know," I say.

He's right. Even the Gerudo – _my_ Gerudo, back home – recognize the Blood Challenges as barbaric. While the ritual doesn't violate the Covenant specifically, it sure as Hell violates just about every other oath and vow the Gerudo swear to each other. We have enough enemies without cutting each other to pieces over every single slight and insult. The fact of the matter is that at some point, long before I came along, the Gerudo realized they're _better_ than this. But these women have forgotten that along with everything else.

When I look back at Hunter my face is hard, my resolve set. Game's over. No more messing around. "Where's Apheri?" I ask him.

"Sitting in the bleachers, last I saw her, watching Lierana die. She's not cheering, just watching. What are you doing?" he demands, alarmed as I get unsteadily to my feet.

"What I have to," I respond, grabbing my bow on the way out. He follows me reluctantly, obviously not wanting to observe any more of the gruesome spectacle than he has to.

"Which is what, exactly?" he asks, but I ignore the question.

The crowd has thinned out, I'm guessing, since the last time Hunter was out here. If the Arbiter knows what she's doing, and I assume she does, Hunter is correct and it will take Lierana a long time to bleed to death. Watching it happen gets boring once the violator gets tired of struggling and runs out of energy. I'm unsurprised to see Anahti still among the few stragglers, chatting with a group of women in the stands as though there isn't anything at all unusual about the day, and one of their sisters is not being slowly murdered fifty feet away. Apheri sits alone on the bottom bench, her eyes fixed on Lierana's form, her face unreadable.

Lierana stands as Hunter described, sagging against her bonds, tied to a large wooden X erected not far from the bleachers. Her normally white uniform is as red as Anahti's, soaked through with blood that still oozes from the shallow cuts – the smell of it, even from here, forces me to close my eyes and beat back the Beast; we're getting late in the day and it's getting stronger. Her breathing is laboured and rattles in her chest, but her eyes are open and at least semi-alert. Every now and then she finds the strength to throw a listless look around, searching, I'm sure, for Ciardi. The latter, angry over the damage Lierana's cheating has done to her reputation, is nowhere to be seen.

Yesterday I had thought Apheri's abandonment was complete when Ciardi chose Lierana as her second.

Today I can see I was wrong. Ciardi is capable of much worse than simply choosing another.

Despair and sorrow crosses Lierana's face – she no longer has the energy to mask her emotions – and she lets her head sag again as a rough fit of dry coughing shakes her. Something stirs in Apheri's expression – pity? Remorse? – and she gets to her feet and goes to speak to the Arbiter. She points at Lierana and says something I can't hear. The Arbiter looks recalcitrant, but Apheri insists and the green eventually gives in. She says something to one of her assistants, and the woman runs off and comes back with a drink for Lierana. Hunter and I exchange a surprised glance.

Apheri looks up at us as we rejoin her at her seat. "Oh," she says. "You're awake." She looks no worse for the wear, outside of the bandages on her shoulder, but her eyes are veiled and her face is stonier than usual. "We won."

"Hunter filled me in," I say. "Listen, I need to ask you something." She looks at me expectantly, and I point at Lierana. "If you could spare her this, would you?"

She blinks in surprise at the question, and immediately returns her gaze to Lierana. "She cheated," she says automatically. "She poisoned me rather than face me directly in combat. She tried to kill me. She violated the Challenge in the worst way possible."

"That's not what I asked you," I say, my voice suddenly harsh even to my own ears. The Beast is wearing away at my patience. This isn't helped by how little time I have to mess around. Hunter frowns at me, eyes rebuking my roughness under the circumstances. Apheri just narrows her eyes at Lierana's suffering form. I repeat my question: "would you spare her this?"

"I can't. It's a pointless question."

"Answer it," I snap, and there's no question that it's a command. "Truthfully."

She tightens her jaw for a moment, her eyes distant, but she has no choice. "We were friends, once," she says finally, heavily. "Before the Dark World changed us all. Whatever she's done since, I _would_ spare her this."

I turn without acknowledging her response and approach Lierana. Anahti straightens in the stands when she sees me move and says something to one of the wolves near her. The canine wags its tail once in acknowledgement and leaves the bleachers, no doubt to spread the word that something's happening. I'll have a crowd again before I'm through with Lierana, but I couldn't care less.

For once, this isn't about the Challenge.

I stop ten feet from her – the closest I trust myself; the scent of blood is overpowering – and study her for a long moment. "Lierana," I say. She doesn't respond. The Arbiter, noting the bow in my hands, tries to move over to me, but she's intercepted by Anahti, who, judging by what Hunter told me, is looking forward to whatever comes next. I ignore them both. "Lierana," I bark, louder, harder.

She struggles to muster the energy to raise her head, but she does it. "What?" she demands, her voice hoarse and weak. "Come…to gloat?"

For a moment, I debate the wisdom of this. I have no reason to believe that she's going to accept the truth of who and what I am just because she's lost her honour, her dignity, whatever respect she once enjoyed, and a pint or two of blood. But she needs to if I'm going to be able to help her.

I'm not Ciardi. And I'm not Ganondorf.

I have to try.

"Look at me," I say. She scoffs and starts to let her head drop, but I move forward before she can – despite the hungry growling of the Beast. It takes everything I have to beat it back; I can't afford to let it interfere, not now – and grab her chin firmly, forcing her face up to look at me. She tries to avoid my gaze, but she's not strong enough to fight it. Her golden eyes finally settle on my own icy ones and she freezes, like a startled rabbit, like so many Gerudo before her have.

You can tell a lot about a person by their eyes – or at least, I can. In Lierana's I see her immediate, considerable pain, and a surprising amount of guilt. I see fear and I see anger and I see a resolve I would expect in any true Gerudo to face her death anyway, shameful and honourless though it is. I see a sense of entitlement out of place among my mother's people, coupled with a more familiar pride and arrogance. But I also see scars. Scars from living under Ganondorf. Scars from serving him so closely. Scars from the Dark World and surviving it for decades by whatever means necessary. These things have shaped her into what she is and it's nearly impossible to see what she _was_ beneath them; to see what lies at her core. There's a glimpse, maybe; a hint of a woman brighter and stronger than this, but nothing more than that. It's been too long, the scars too deep.

Ordinarily, it wouldn't be enough, but coupled with Apheri's confession that she would spare her if she could….

"Lierana," I say again, putting as much authority and command into my voice as I can muster. She stirs, her eyes focusing on something in mine that only she can see. "Seeker of the Desert, will you swear your life to me, the Son of the Wind?"

A startled hush falls over the growing crowd behind me. All conversation, all chatter stops – half the newcomers freeze, mid-step, unable to believe that they just heard what they did. All eyes are on me, intense, incredulous. Apheri and Hunter both stare at me, as startled as the rest.

Lierana struggles for a moment in my grip. The familiar words speak to something buried deep insider her, I can see it. They stir whatever piece of the old her still exists in there. "What?" she manages. "I don't…."

"Seeker of the Desert," I repeat insistently, "will you swear your life to me, the Son of the Wind?"

In a way, the hundreds of cuts, the bruises from the day, are a blessing. She's too tired to fall back on her old, misplaced loyalties. Too close to death to allow pride or folly to deny whatever it is she sees in my eyes. She recognizes her choice, understands what she needs to do. She straightens stiffly, pulls her chin from my hand to hold her head up under her own power. She holds my gaze, confused and frightened and just a little hopeful. Behind me, gathered crowd holds its collective breath.

"I will," she says at last. Her voice is hoarse, the words barely a croak, but the wind carries them to the others. The Gerudo behind me sink slowly into their seats, faces dumbfounded.

"Seeker of the Wind," I continue, "will you swear your spirit to me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will," she says again, struggling to draw the breath she needs for the words.

"Seeker of the Sands, will you swear your sons to me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will," she says, then, louder. "I will!"

"Seeker of the Sun, will you stand forever guard over these lands, and bow to none but me, the Son of the Wind?"

"I will."

I raise my voice for the benefit of those gathered, though it's entirely unnecessary. But for the low moan of the permanent storm surrounding us, the camp is silent, stunned by the incomprehensibility of what they're seeing. "Then I accept your oaths, on behalf of the Goddess in the Sands. As the Son of the Wind, I name you Geru'do. Now bow, and seal the covenant."

With a shuddering breath, Lierana drops her head to me, the closest approximation of a bow she can manage against her bonds.

It is more than good enough for me.

I pull an arrow from my quiver and nock it to the bow, aiming it straight at her heart. "You have violated the terms of the Blood Challenge," I tell her. "You have betrayed your Sisters for the sake of your damnable pride, and that is unforgivable." She flinches at my words, grief and remorse written all over her pain-filled face. My expression softens. "But your oaths are renewed and the Wind will welcome her Daughter regardless. Stand, Lierana. Stand and face your death as a Geru'do."

Lierana draws in a shuddering breath and strains weakly against the ropes binding her. It takes her two tries, but she gets her head back up and straightens against the wooden frame.

"Lierana!" I hear Apheri call from behind me. Lierana's breaks my gaze at last, and her eyes wander to the wolf-legged Gerudo. Something unnamed passes between them and I loose my arrow. It slices through her heart – a quick, clean kill – and she does not break the gaze of the Sister she betrayed mere hours ago until her eyes flutter up into her head and she sags with a final gasp against her bonds.

I turn away from her body, struggling with too many emotions to name and none of them positive. The Beast paces restlessly in my chest, fanning the flames eagerly, raking its claws across my heart. The Gerudo are staring at me with uniformly wide eyes. "She remembered, at the end, who she was," I tell them coldly. "She died a Gerudo's death and I'll kill anyone who says otherwise from this point forward."

They believe me. To a woman, they believe me.

"She violated the Blood Challenge," says the Arbiter, a crazed, off-kilter look in her eyes. She has obviously settled on addressing the less impossible aspect of what just played out, which is the possibility that I might have violated the Challenge myself – easier to deal with than the possibility that a King of the Gerudo might actually be blonde. "You can't just—."

"It's my Challenge," I interrupt her flatly. "Her life was mine to take."

"You know the Covenant," Anahti says before the Arbiter can argue further. There is a sort of disbelieving belief in her face that I am all too familiar with. "You _actually_ know the Covenant."

"I _am_ the Covenant," I correct her, then turn to the still-gaping crowd. "Someone go get your fearless leader. This ends tonight."

***

"This is a bad idea, Link."

"All of my ideas are bad ideas."

"Granted," Hunter says, "but this one is particularly bad. You're beat up, Apheri's recently been poisoned, and we've got less than an hour before the sun goes down and you turn ten times more insane than you've been all day, which, for the record, is pretty freaking insane."

"The Sheikah has a point," Apheri notes uneasily. "The Arbiter would let us wait a day under the circumstances. Lierana's cheating threw off the whole schedule."

"I've already talked to the Arbiter," I respond shortly. "If we get too close to sun down she'll call the whole thing so I can go stuff myself into that stupid bag for yet another night. But it's not going to take that long. This fight will be over before that point no matter what happens, so it's moot. Either I'm dead, or I'm a rabbit, but we'll know which before the sun goes down."

"And the multitude of injuries we have all sustained and the fact that we could all use a good night's sleep before we jump into life or death combat with a Makani?" Hunter demands sourly.

I frown and loosen the Master Sword in its sheath with useless, nervous energy. "It's not just a good night's sleep for me," I say. "I'll heal in full."

"And that would definitely be bad," Hunter agrees in that tone that means he's not agreeing at all.

"Yes," I reply. "It wouldn't be fair. You're supposed to do each round of the Challenge with whatever wounds you sustained in the last round. At the very least I'd have to let Ciardi stab me again – that's an official wound – but the fact that I got to have the rest of it healed up? It would call into question the whole Challenge. It would sully our victory and give Ciardi grounds to dispute it."

"Except she'll be dead if we win," Hunter points out.

"But the others won't be," I tell him. "Someone could take it up on her behalf, and I'll have lost whatever ground I gained with these people. How you fight is just as important as winning or losing in a Blood Challenge."

"No," Hunter corrects me, "I'm pretty sure _winning_ and therefore _living_ is more important _than everything else_."

"Link's right," Apheri says. "The win doesn't count for anything if it's not won fairly."

"You think that," Hunter says in an exasperated tone that means he's giving up, "because you're a Gerudo, and therefore as crazy as he is. When winning means living and losing means dying, everything else becomes sort of relative."

"You think that," Apheri responds, annoyed, "because you're a Sheikah. And therefore as short-sighted and hypocritical as the rest of your people."

"Hypo—!" starts Hunter.

"Same team, guys," I cut him off. "We're on the same team here."

"I didn't even want to be on the team," Hunter says mournfully. "You volunteered me for it."

"And as a result you have stayed alive for forty-eight hours longer than you would have otherwise."

"They wouldn't have killed me," he points out dully. "They would have put me in a nice warm crystal where I could just sleep forever, completely free of any Gerudo entanglements."

"You can thank me later," I say generously. "Now shut up, the Arbiter's talking."

"The final round of the Blood Challenge is Melee Combat, to the death," the Arbiter shouts. She's standing on the blood-stained patch of ground where Lierana had been tied a quarter of an hour ago. I'm given to understand that the body's been wrapped and will be taken out with the next patrol to somewhere a little dryer than here for the standard cremation – an honour she would not have been afforded had I not granted her a Gerudo's death. I didn't ask for them to give her this, but they did it anyway. Probably a good sign. "The Challengers are tied at one win each. No points will be awarded this round, no restrictions placed on weapons except that they cannot be magical – last team breathing wins. Challengers, take your places."

"You sure about taking Nobernal alone?" Hunter asks for the thousandth time since we laid out our strategy.

"If you are asking me whether I want to do it," I tell him as we take up our spots, "the answer is a resounding no. If you are asking me whether I think it's our best shot, the answer is yes. Just…kill Ciardi quickly and come back me up."

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Apheri says with a tight frown.

"That's because you don't understand the difference between when I'm being King, and when I'm being the Hero of Time yet," I tell her. "Don't worry. You'll learn the distinction soon enough."

"The fact that he's a Triforce Carrier buys him some time," Hunter says, reminding himself along with her. "Nobernal needs to get through a lot of ancient, magical mumbo jumbo to really kill him, but I don't think it'll take her that long. We just need to be quick. It's two on one, we've got better odds."

"Challengers, draw your weapons!"

As badly as I want to draw the Master Sword right now, I'm pretty sure it's basically made entirely _of_ magic and would violate the rules. I pull a scimitar from my waist and tighten my grip on my shield, forcing myself to lock eye (sockets) with Nobernal across the arena.

Her face is awash in hatred and eagerness, and I don't think I have to worry about her getting distracted trying to kill Hunter or Apheri. But from far too close to the surface, both the Beast and the rabbit look back at her, remembers the taste of the last Makani I fought, remembers the feeling of its claws around my throat. The Beast returns her look tenfold, the Rabbit sets my heart pounding.

This is not going to be fun.

"And…begin!" cries the Arbiter.

Ciardi, Hunter and Apheri do the sensible thing and start purposefully, but slowly toward each other, taking the time to size up their opponent(s) and the situation as a whole. Nobernal decides that sensibility is overrated and throws herself through the air and at me with such blinding speed I barely have time to jump to the side. The sword in her hand slices through the air far too close to me for comfort, and she's already spinning around to attack me again before I'm even done dodging.

I drag my shield up to take the hit, and the next three rapid-fire blows after that, back-peddling the entire time. My arm is numb, my shoulder tingles unpleasantly, and I suspect the whole apparatus is on the verge of breaking.

Farore! She's not even leaving me time to counter.

The Rabbit lurches up into my chest and throat and my resolve wavers dangerously. I can see Nobernal's face over my shield – she's in a frenzy, practically wielding her blade like cudgel, just trying to beat me into the ground with it. There's no finesse, no art. It's all just mindless pounding. Her face is a mask of rage and hatred and grief; beauty incarnate, sure, but tortured and twisted and contorted into something else entirely. It's like looking your own death in the face and realizing it hates you more than anything else in the world.

I feel a tremble start in my arms having nothing to do with the pounding I'm taking and my sword hand starts to shake. Nobernal brings her sword up again and I start to fall over the edge, into panic. I'm ready to break, ready to run for it. I tense my muscles, almost turn to bolt.

But a great howl tears itself loose from the crowd. They are once again united in one voice, no longer discordant. They sing out, whether wolf or woman, and the song is anger and hunger and loss. It's bitter and hard and painful, but they sing it anyway, and the sound of it elicits an echoing howl from within my chest. The Beast breaks through, tramples the rabbit, and instead of turning, I leap.

Nobernal brings her sword down, and I rise up to meet it. I take the blow on my shield – as hard, as bone-shattering as the rest of them – but with a speed that is not my own I bring my scimitar around to counter. The blade bites, but doesn't go deep, despite the power behind the swing. Beneath her skin the flesh is black, but I haven't got time to notice more than that before I'm spinning away from her, putting distance between us as I snarl inwardly at myself.

 _No!_ I snap. _Go away! I don't need you!_

The women are still howling and the Beast is still answering them. Nobernal's taloned hand is on the wound I've just given her. Her face is a mask of surprise and, unexpectedly, fear. The sight of the emotion whips the Beast into a frenzy and it's all I can do to stop myself from lunging after her again.

Nobernal turns to face me, chest heaving, face like a distorted reflection in a twisted mirror. The fear in her face crystallizes, hardens. It turns into desperation. It flares into hatred. And all around its edges I can see confusion, anger, and a strange loneliness so deep I'll never be able to understand it, except to say that I've seen it before, in Anduriel's milky eyes.

Nobernal throws her weapon to the side and spreads her taloned hands wide, snaps her wings open, and screams at me and the sky and the universe.

The sound of it silences the women at last – even the other Blood Challengers, locked in mortal combat with each other, turn to look. They stare at Nobernal and the scent of fear worms its greedy way into the brittle quiet. Nobernal's scream dies off and she turns to look at me again, nostrils flared, expression one of primal fury, of absolute rage.

The sudden silence of these Gerudo is worse than all their howling before it combined.

I think of Lierana, as warped and twisted as Nobernal by this vile reflection of Ganon's heart. A woman ruined by her King's greed, destroyed for the sake of his pride. A life wasted on ashes and dust, by a man too weak to build, only willing to take.

I think of Rue and Nabooru, of everything they've seen in their lives. Of everything they've been put through at the hands of Ganondorf and his followers. Of everything they endured at the hands of a coward too small and greedy on the inside to live up to his end of the Covenant.

Despite myself, I think of my mother. Proud, strong Natalia. Who believed in the Covenant above all else. Who served Ganon more loyally than any other, no matter what he had done, because she had sworn to do so. Who, in the end, was destroyed by him because the Wind sent another to take his place and she was its harbinger.

I can smell them all now. I can smell their fear, their disgust. I can smell their hope and their anticipation. They're waiting for something, some cue. To bow down and submit once more, or to rise up and fight it. To tear the silence to shreds and any that would stop them along with it.

They're waiting for a sign…and I'm it.

Into the silence that shouldn't exist, into the silence that has no right to be here, I scream back. Echo Nobernal's rage with my own. I loose the Beast with my voice, I loose the Wind. All around me the Mire answers the call, and then, so do the Gerudo.

 _My_ Gerudo.

Nobernal twitches at the noise, then snarls and leaps into the air, talons out and ready as she dives toward me.

The Arbiter is screaming something at me I can't hear over the din, but I don't need to. Hunter and I discussed this possibility as part of our strategy and confirmed the rules with the Arbiter beforehand.

Nobernal's claws count as magical weapons. If she tries to use them, I'm allowed to defend myself in kind.

I've got the Master Sword out before my scimitar hits the ground and I have just enough time to see the horror and untempered fear in Nobernal's face through the blue flame before she lands. She tries, too late, to correct her trajectory, and the ancient blade cuts through her like butter.

She screams again, but it's a very different scream this time. She grabs the blade in her hands and tears it out of her chest, then sends it, and me, flying. I slam hard into the bleachers, but barely have time to wave the stars away from vision before the women around me are pulling me to my feet again. Below us, Nobernal has not stopped screaming.  
The Master Sword's fire is still burning her, even though the weapon's in my hand. Bright blue flames lick at her from the wound, catching and burning and covering her as she screams and beats futilely at them.

"No!" she's shrieking. "No! Stop! Stop talking, stop! I won't look! I won't! Stop!"

Everyone's eyes are on the spectacle, even Hunter, Apheri and Ciardi. Ciardi's expression is nothing short of horrified as her trump card burns.

"Please!" Nobernal cries, and I realize with a start that she's sobbing. "Please stop! I don't want to see it! Don't do it! Don't! You'll let them out, don't!"

She falls to her knees and the fire's everywhere now. She raises her hands to her face, trying to cover her eyes. "No! Don't let them out!"

"Something's happening," says Anahti, one of the women who helped me up. "Her eyes…"

She's right. Something falls on the ground beneath the violated Avatar's face, and then something else. They're a sickly off-white colour, shiny, round and wet in the flickering blue light. I can't help but watch with morbid fascination as several more fall out. Nobernal's words lose coherence, but she doesn't stop sobbing and babbling, pressing her hands tighter over her face. Despite her efforts, the small orbs continue to come out, squeezing between her fingers and popping out from around the sides of her hands.

"Are those…eyes?" manages someone in a choked, horrified voice.

"Nayru, Farore and Din," I swear.

They are. There must be hundreds of them.

I look down at the Master's Sword, still burning grimly in my hand. "What did you do?" I demand of it, then start down the bleachers without waiting for an answer I know I'll never get.

Just as I reach the ground, Nobernal's frantic, incoherent pleading ends abruptly in a final pain-wracked, blood-curdling, heart-breaking scream. The sound of it hangs for a moment on the air after it ends, punctuated by the flickering and dying of the blue fire that's consumed her.

Her charred corpse – smaller than I would have expected, and infinitely more frail looking – falls forward, landing on the large pile of dismembered eyes.

I swallow thickly and turn to Ciardi, whose eyes are incredulous little beads of stone-cold hate. "Last call," I tell her. "Your second and third are both dead. Submit and end the Challenge."

Her face gives me her answer without her needing to say a word. She turns and charges at me.

"Leave her!" I snap as Hunter and Apheri move to follow her. "She's mine!"

But before Ciardi gets to me, there's a sound like wet meat tearing, and the pile of eyes – now an amorphous blob of eyes – lurches forward as Ciardi runs by it. It lashes out with a tentacle and grabs her ankle, sending her pitching face-first into the ground.

"Ciardi!" I gasp and immediately run toward her – to do what, I don't know.

She swears viciously and scrabbles in the dirt for her sword, but the thing lurches up – at least 20 feet high – and pulls her with it, weaponless.

I slam my sword back into its sheathe and tear my bow from my back. I've got an arrow nocked and loosed in half a second. It tears through the air and shreds an eyeball on its way through the oozy tentacle. The eyeball explodes with surprising force, and the thing makes a strange, squelching shriek as the tentacle around Ciardi is throw from its body to land in a hissing puddle on the ground. Hunter darts forward to catch the Gerudo woman, but he isn't fast enough. Before she can land, the thing lurches forward again, catching her in its mass. She barely has time to scream before she's consumed by it.

For a moment it does nothing, just stands there and undulates, the eyes within the greenish liquid twitching this way and that, looking at all of us, taking us all in. When it starts jerkily forward again, moving toward me, I start backing up. As it shifts it leaves behind a steaming, smoking skeleton, approximately Ciardi's size.

For a moment, the crowd stares at the skeleton, and then Apheri begins screaming. "To arms! All women to arms!" The crowd gives a start, jarred from the vacation that has been the Blood Challenge and reminded that they are, in fact, supposed to be some kind of army. "Elite to the King! Reds and Purples take up your bows! Fire at will!"

Nobody questions her. The crowd is on its feet instantly, women scrambling this way and that to find weapons and organizing themselves into their units. The Elite – a ragged combination of women and wolves – are around me as quickly and efficiently as though they were my own bodyguards from back home. If Rue were here she would offer them a curt nod of approval – practically a medal of honour coming from her.

Of course, I ignore them as stubbornly as I would if they were my own bodyguards from back home, and _these_ particular Elite don't know _any_ of my tricks.

Baptism by fire, ladies. Keep up or burn.

I bolt to the side and fire another arrow as I move, searching for a weak point. It sails into the vitreous mass and doesn't come out the other end, no doubt dissolved into nothing within. One of the Elite wolves darts too close to the mass, trying to find a short cut to catch up to me, and it lashes out with a blobby tentacle and drags her, whining and snarling, into itself.

"Keep back!" I shout. "Don't get near it!" Several of the women are now armed with their bows and have begun firing at it. Most of the arrows do like my first one and have no appreciable effect, but at least two of them cause little explosions, sending acidic goo flying from the thing.

"The eyes," I say, realization dawning on me. I feel like an idiot.

First rule of Dungeoneering 101 – when in doubt, go for the eyes.

I skid to a stop and raise my bow, firing another arrow, this time aiming straight at a baby blue peering directly at me from the blob. As I'd hoped the eye explodes, expelling green fluid from the mass. A tentacle lashes out at me in retaliation and it's only the flying tackle of one of the elite that keeps it from catching me. "The eyes!" I cry as she hauls me to my feet and we start running again. "Aim for the eyes!"

"I think the puddles are still acidic!" the Arbiter yells.

"Confirmed!" Hunter calls back, tearing one of his boots off his feet before the smoking leather starts melting flesh. "Stay out of the puddles!"

"Keep moving!" I order them all sharply. "It has a harder time locking on!" As though to prove my point, one of the purples stops running in order to take aim with her bow, much as I did earlier, only there's no Elite handy nearby to save her. A tentacle lashes out and grabs her and she's gone before any of us can do anything about it.

More arrows start flying, and there are more than a few explosions from within the creature, sending us all dashing this way and that to avoid the resulting splashes. A couple women start screaming, not fast enough to avoid it.

"Purples!" Apheri snarls over the din. "Get the wounded out of here! Keep the battlefield clear!"

"Someone get explosives!" I hear Anahti call.

"Are you crazy?" Hunter demands shrilly, hurling several knives into the amorphous mass then rushing to avoid getting hit by the burst of acid. "You'll kill us all if you blow that thing up! It'll be everywhere!"

"If you'd prefer to let it keep picking us off one by one…" Anahti retorts.

We've taken out enough of its eyes now that it's about as mad as a partially congealed conglomerate of acid and eyes can be. Its shape shudders and twists, changing shape madly as the eyes search the frantically moving crowd for a target.

I see several of them stop moving abruptly, coming to rest on the same spot – a full-wolf struggling to drag one of her unconscious or dead sisters from the field, not moving fast enough to avoid the blob's gaze. It ripples near her and I feel a sudden, violent surge of rage that propels me forward before I quite know what I'm doing.

I wish I could say it's that good old Heroic instinct, but it's not.

That woman, wolf or not, is _mine_ , and there's no way I'm letting that thing have her. I'm going to make it pay for thinking it can invade my territory, or threaten my power.

I arrive just as it stabs at her with a tentacle and I shove her roughly out of the way, nearly sending her into an acid puddle.

"Link!" Hunter cries in horror as the tentacle wraps around my waist and drags me toward it as jealously as I defended that wolf.

I maintain the presence of mind to scream "Nayru's love!" just before I'm pulled into the acidic slime.

The sounds from outside grow muffled and dull, the light gets dim and heavy. Outside the clear blue light of my shield I can see eyes floating peacefully past, spinning to look at me. I can hear a steady hissing that I know is the acid eating away at the shield, and once it's through that it'll start eating through me. I need to think but it's hard. We're too close to nightfall, my thoughts are frantic and haywire, my emotions a bubbling cauldron of rage and pain and pride. Each eye that looks at me sends a jolt of anger through me and makes me want to reach outside the shield to tear the offending orb to pieces.

I move to draw my sword, but no that won't work. Even if I managed to slice a couple eyes before the acid ate me away completely it wouldn't make a difference.

I could use my bow, but once the shield goes down it's not like I can fire it in the liquid.

I could use Din's fire but that'll just burn the acid and I'll choke to death on what will no doubt be poisonous smoke – to say nothing of the damage I would cause to the people outside when a dozen eyes all burst at once.

I snarl as the acid eats a whole in my shield and begins to pour in, splashing on my shoulder and searing the skin. I throw myself against the side of the shield as it starts unraveling rapidly.

The imminent approach of my death sets the Beast to snarling savagely, but it allows me to focus at last.

One chance.

I have one chance.

I drive my hand into my quiver and rip out an arrow. I don't even bother nocking it, I just close my eyes and unleash its magic as Nayru's love gives out at last and the acid rushes in to take me.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Link!"

"No!" Apheri snarled. "Get him out of there!"

"It's too late!" Anahti responded, firing an arrow at the spot where he vanished anyway. "He's dead!"

"No he's not!" Hunter snapped, wracking his brain for a solution. "Not yet – he shielded himself! We have a few seconds, still!"

"To do _what_?" Apheri cried. "I'm open to ideas here, Sheikah!"

"Do we have any mages?" Hunter demanded. "Or magic items? Anything that could stop it or slow it down?"

"No! Our only mage was killed years ago, and we used up all our magic items just getting _into_ the Sacred Realm!"

"Goddess dammit!" Hunter snarled. "We need to do _something_! Block it off or snare it or…or…freeze it!" This last was a triumphant shout as he pointed at the monster, which had begun to writhe violently, no doubt as a result of the sudden burst of icy blue light from within it. The motion of the liquid slowed, tentacles mid grab grew sluggish and stopped. "Blunt weapons!" Hunter cried, watching the creature literally freeze in its tracks. Frost appeared on its surface and it came to a complete stop. The eyes within trembled, but were unable to turn and move. "Smash it to pieces! Quick, before he suffocates!"

"Do as he says!" Apheri barked. "Go, go, go!"

The women responded immediately, picking up hammers, using the hilts of their swords, or smashing it with shields. A couple women descended on it with rocks, and one with a piece of wood torn from the bleachers. The full-wolves threw their own bodies at it, slamming into it over and over again with ferocious snarls and savage barks.

Those with no blunt weapons ran after the pieces that broke off, stomping on the eyes that came free, their "explosions" little more than puffs of air now that they were apart from the larger mass. It didn't take long for them to chip away enough of its base that it began to teeter dangerously. "Topple it!" Apheri cried. "All women to me! Topple it from this side! Go!"

As one they threw themselves at it, over and over, until with a thunderous groan, and a deafening crack, it fell ponderously backward, smashing the bleachers to splinters and shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Link!" Hunter called, darting forward while most of the women were still brushing the frozen acid from their ponytails before it could melt and become problematic. "Link, answer me! Where are you?"

"Hunt-t-ter," he heard a hoarse voice call weakly from near the centre of the field of icy rubble. "Hunter g-g-g-get away."

"Link!" Hunter gasped, feeling momentarily limp with relief. "Thank the Goddesses. I thought for sure you'd bought it that time." He clambered over the rubble to where his cousin was struggling to sit. Link sported a few bad looking burns and his lips were blue with the cold, but it was nothing a night in the bag wouldn't fix.

The thought, combined with the look on the Hero of Time's face, stopped Hunter mid-step.

Link's shaking was not entirely due to the cold. His expression oscillated between fear and rage and with each second that passed, the rage appeared to be winning. "Hunt-t-t-ter," he chattered desperately, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet on a nearby chunk of ice. "M-m-m-m-m-ove!"

Hunter looked up, past the towering hurricane that spun endlessly around the camp, and through the eye of the storm saw a sky too dark to contain a sun.

"G-g-g-g-g-go!" Link snarled, and lunged clumsily for him. For a moment his eyes appeared a sickly green instead of their usual brilliant blue. "G-g-g-GO!"

Knowing he had no other choice, Hunter turned and went.

"Apheri!" he screamed as he leapt over the rubble and scrambled away. "Apheri!" Behind him, Link started screaming.

"What's happening?" Apheri demanded. "Did you find him?"

"He's fine," Hunter said, grabbing her hand and pulling her away. "We have to go."

"What? Why—?" Before she could finish her question an unearthly howl tore free from the maw of the Hero of Time. Her face went pale as all the women froze in what they were doing and turned toward the sound.

The Beast rose from the ice and rubble, rage and hate and hunger etched in every line of his lupine silhouette. He surveyed the gathered Gerudo, then dropped to all fours, raised his face to the sky and howled again. This time, the Gerudo answered. The full-wolves were the first to start forward, leaping through the rubble eagerly. He howled again and the half-wolves started forward as well, answering his call. Apheri shuddered and started forward but Hunter grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. She turned and snarled at him, raised her hand as though to strike him, but he was faster. One sharp blow to the head and she went down like a pile of rocks. Wasting no time, he hooked his arms beneath her shoulders and started dragging her backwards as the rest of the women leapt forward.

"Sorry," he muttered as he searched the camp for a decent hiding place, "but he'd never forgive me if I let him eat you." His eyes fell on the small tent that had once hidden the crystal holding Neesha from close inspection. It had been splashed with acid, and though the crystal within appeared fine, the tent was a smoking ruin, only half of it still standing. Hunter cast an uneasy look over his shoulder at the gathering of wolves and started dragging Apheri toward it.

It would have to do.

It wasn't ideal, but nowhere was, and he hoped the burning acid smell would keep the Beast from sniffing them out.

He pulled Apheri in with him and lay her down against the non-burned section of tent, curling her up to keep her from being visible through the ruined half, then positioned himself behind the crystal and attempted to calm his breathing.

"It's a shame you weren't awake for this whole escapade," he told her quietly, peering around the edge of the crystal to watch the women and wolves gathering around Link. They were growling and barking at him, and he was growling and barking back. One of the full-wolves lunged at him and he caught her mid-air and ruthlessly slammed her into the ground. Another tried it and was similarly put down. The third took a chunk from his shoulder, but ultimately found herself thrown into the ground with a high-pitched whine and slinked to the back of the group with her tail between her legs. The Beast snarled at all of them, growling fiercely until they all reacted similarly. The full-wolves tucked their tails between their legs and lowered their heads. The half-women got to one knee and did the same. "A Blood Challenge, a Gerudo King being all…Gerudo-y, a giant acid monster made of eyes…this is the kind of BS you try to feed me all the time. Also, we kind of could have used you, so…congratulations for being all asleep and useless. Your timing is great, as always."

Their submission assured, the Beast raised its massive head to the sky once more and let loose a triumphant howl. His new pack joined him, voices twining eerily and sending shivers down Hunter's spine. They turned as one, ignoring the camp entirely, and ran toward the storm and the hunt beyond.

They disappeared into the rain, but still Hunter did not allow himself to relax, sweeping the squall with his eyes, searching for the shape of wolves in the night, listening for the howls that meant they were returning.

It wasn't until he saw something shudder and move in the dim light of the battlefield just beyond his hiding place that he turned his attention elsewhere. There were still Gerudo wounded, and it occurred to him that there was no one left behind to tend them. He wondered how strenuously they might object to first aid from a Sheikah, and he stepped out from behind the crystal.

Then he froze. The shape that had caught his eye wasn't quite right. She pulled herself shakily to her feet and lurched toward him unsteadily, the steps halting and clumsy, as though the legs no longer worked quite right. It wasn't until she passed through a pool of light thrown by a nearby brazier that he realized it wasn't a Gerudo.

Nobernal's charred corpse – one wing dragging limply on the ground behind her, throwing her off balance, the other completely burned away – was stumbling toward him, and despite all of his training, the sight of it froze him in place, like a startled cat.

When she was close enough for him to touch she stopped and raised her blackened hands in a strangely peaceful gesture. He realized, with a start, that a pair of the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen were staring back out from her burnt face.

"Tell Anduriel," she rasped, the voice painful and hoarse, "that I am sorry. For what we did, and what we have become."

Still tensed and ready to attack or run, Hunter nodded uncertainly.

"Tell the Hero," Nobernal added, "thank you. For freeing me from the prison of my flesh." A violent shudder shook her frame, sending ash tumbling from her body. "I will set this right because it is within what power I have left. The rest is up to you."

She reached out with her hands and set them on Neesha's crystal.

"Wait!" said Hunter and reached out for her, unsure of what she was doing. But the next instant there was a sound, like thin ice breaking, and the crystal shattered violently, forcing Hunter to turn and duck or catch a face full of shards. When the sound of falling crystal had faded he risked a peek out from between his arms. An ancient looking skeleton lay on the ground where Nobernal's burnt corpse had stood. The bones were yellow with age, as though it had been lying there for some time, having died several ages ago. Hunter swallowed a sudden surge of sorrow for the pitiful creature that Nobernal had been reduced to, and turned to look at where Neesha's crystal had been.

Standing with a sleepy, bewildered expression on her face, stood the teenaged Gerudo, staring around with uncomprehending eyes and an expression of utmost confusion on her face.

Behind her Apheri groaned and sat up, one hand on her head. "What happened?" she demanded, then blinked when she saw Neesha, standing in a pile of broken crystal. A small frown turned the corners of her mouth downward as she studied her, obviously trying – and failing – to see the supposed Gerudo in this silly young thing with the pretty green dress, delicate curls, and lost expression.

Neesha's eyes fell on Hunter's, latching on to the only familiar thing in the area, and despite the grimness of the situation and the fact that every piece of him told him it was a bad idea, one side of his mouth twitched into an amused smile. "Nice dress," he said.

"Oh," said Apheri as the younger woman's face contorted with rage and she lunged for the Sheikah, "I see it now."


	25. You Need New Friends

#  **Chapter 24 and Interludes**

" _Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration."_

_~ Charles Dickens_

" _I hear the wind across the plain,  
A sound so strong, that calls my name.  
It's wild like the river, it's warm like the sun,  
Yeah it's here, this is where I belong._

_[…]_

_And wherever I wander, the one thing I've learned,  
Yeah, it's to here, I will always – always – return."_

~ This is Where I Belong, Bryan Adams

## A Brief Interlude

"It's been over 24 hours since I found Impa in the Dark, and she has yet to wake." Darunia's face was the grimmest the dwindling Sage's had ever seen it. "We are in trouble, friends. That's two Sages and a Hero trapped in the Dark World, one Sage locked here in the Sacred Realm, and one removed from action by an unknown ailment we can neither isolate, nor cure. We're running out of Sages at a time when Hyrule desperately needs them."

"That's not our only problem," Nabooru noted, scratching at a dark gash on her cheek. "The Moblins took down the old man's shield last night and we don't know how. Little insects were all over the fortress. We think they're bringing in something else from behind the seals, but we don't know what."

"Not good news," Rauru said darkly, "given what Darunia says about the waiting game the Moblins in Kakariko are playing. The two may be related."

"To say nothing of Impa's condition," Ruto pointed out. "It can't be a coincidence. The woman has never been sick a day in her life. I've seen her take wounds that should have killed her outright and watched her keep fighting. This has to be targeted."

"Since when are Moblins good enough to target and poison Sages? Let alone the Sage of freaking Shadow?" Nabooru demanded.

"Since twenty-four hours ago apparently," Ruto responded sharply. A tense silence fell as the group considered that. Nabooru looked around the circle at the empty sigils reserved for their missing or fallen companions and some of her doubt was replaced with unease.

Ruto's expression softened. "At any rate," she said, "things at Lake Hylia are going well enough, except now they're attacking our land forces."

"How?" Darunia asked, surprised. "I thought they couldn't leave the water."

"They catch fire and explode when we drag them up," Ruto said with a sigh. "But our efforts to prove that that's conclusively what happens seem to have inspired them. Now they surface long enough to get enough fire in their throats to spit balls of it at us before ducking under again. I can't imagine how painful it must be for them, but that's never stopped them from any other fool thing they try. Other than that, the battle hasn't changed much. They don't appear to have received any additional reinforcements from the Dark World for weeks. They throw themselves at us and at the wall, but they haven't passed it yet, and since we know they can't bypass it on land, we're holding back more. They're trapped. No sense in losing more lives if they can't get out."

"Could you spare any troops to support Kakariko? The battles in the passes have taken a toll."

"I would need to confirm with Acqul, but that may be an option, as long as we're sure nothing else is going to get into the water. With all due respect, Big Brother, your people are fierce, but they can't fight an underwater foe."

"Has anyone heard from Castletown?" Rauru asked.

"No," said Darunia with a frown. "Impa was coordinating that effort through Brayden. I was not privy to the details of their strategy, and I'm afraid to disrupt his activities by checking in. And, to be honest, I'm needed in Kakariko – especially with Impa down. I think we may need to leave them to their own devices – I can barely spare the time to be here."

"Same," Nabooru said unhappily, and Ruto nodded reluctantly. The Gerudo leader got to her feet and brushed her knees off. "If we're all caught up, I really need to get back. There's a pile of dead pigs waiting to get shipped back to their friends in pieces, and funeral pyres to build from their bones. And for all I know they're attacking again as we speak, so…."

"Go," said Rauru wearily. "All of you. Return to your people. Report back when you can."

Nabooru and Darunia nodded and vanished with the customary light. Ruto stared at the spots where they'd been for a moment, something tired and flagging in her face.

"Ruto?" asked Rauru, concerned.

"We're not enough," she said. "Not so few of us. Moblins in Gerudo fortress, the waters of Lake Hylia violated with aberrations…I'm afraid to know what may be happening in the Lost Woods, Impa fallen ill for no reason, and traitors in control of Castletown. We can't keep up with it. We need the others. Saria, Zelda, Impa…even Link."

"It is my belief that Link is doing what he can on the other side," Rauru responded. "It would explain the stemming of the flood in certain areas if he had managed to close the portals from the Dark World. As for the Sages…we will just need to ensure that we don't lose any more of our number before they can be retrieved." His eyes were old and wise and serious. "Be careful, Ruto. Guard yourself. Now go. Report back to your people. They need you."

She nodded and disappeared as the others had, leaving Rauru once more alone.

***

The stairs of Kakariko Village loomed before Mido like the icy carapace of some frozen death god. They were covered in snow, and beneath that he knew – had, in fact, learned the hard way – was ice. Ice, ice, and more ice. Slick and treacherous and demonstrating extreme prejudice against small mules and smaller boys. He wondered, as he inched slowly upwards on hands and knees, why the people who lived in the town had not cleared it after the blizzard. Surely it was no easier for them to get up and down these steps. Surely there were other mules and little boys in the town who needed to navigate this entryway.

Perhaps, he thought, the stairs were a test. He knew from Link's stories that there was a secret temple hidden somewhere in Kakariko village. And _everyone_ knew the Sheikah lived there, and _everyone_ knew the Sheikah loved testing people. So maybe the stairs were left icy in order to keep out the weak and unworthy, and _everyone_ knew that Mido was neither of those. He was a Kokiri Knight – _the_ Kokiri Knight! – and it would take more than stairs and ice to stop him!

Which wasn't to say they weren't going to slow him down to a significant and frustrating degree.

And also that the mule wasn't going to consistently make things even more difficult by balking approximately every three steps and jerking on its ropes and making Mido slip and fall a hundred times at least.

And also that by the time he got to the top the snow wouldn't be down his boots and under his coat and frightening him just a little bit with the memory of being so cold you couldn't move or speak or even think.

But the point was that he made it to the top of the stairs – dragging the mule the last few feet – and he had beaten their silly test and had proven himself worthy. He was so busy wondering whether that made him an official Sheikah or not – he thought he'd make a good Sheikah, personally, and certainly a better one than Link who couldn't even effectively sneak cookies out of jars – that he didn't immediately notice the strange light flickering just around the rocky bend.

It wasn't until the mule began to bray loudly and dug its hairy hooves into the snow and balked the biggest balk of them all that Mido stopped took a moment to understand what it was he was seeing.

_That…looks like fire…_

This was right out of Link's stories too. About rounding the corner into Kakariko only to see the whole town lit on fire by a big bad monster with two hands and a huge eye and a really big drums and no arms (like _that_ was believable – along with not being sneaky, Link was also a horrible liar. He was the worst Sheikah ever). And Link and his Sheikah friend (who was really a Princess in disguise) had put the fires out and saved the town and everyone thought they were heroes.

Mido pulled himself up to his full height (an impressive four feet and four inches) and puffed out his chest. He was a Sheikah now. It was time to make like a Hero.

The giddiness he felt at finally being able to legitimately use Link's favourite line evaporated almost instantly, however, when he rounded the corner.

It wasn't just a few buildings on fire, it was half the town. And it wasn't one monster, it was many – skinny, ugly, crooked-sword wielding Moblins. The stench of them mingled with the smell of burning wood and flesh and spilled blood and open fear and Mido staggered and gagged. The Moblins were chasing the townspeople through the streets, and the people were confused and hurt and terrified and suddenly Mido was all of the above too.

But before he could panic and turn to run, he remembered where he was. He remembered his mission. He remembered his solemn oath to the Great Deku Tree Sprout, and to the man with the sad green eyes, and his duty to all of Hyrule.

He wasn't a Sheikah. He was a Kokiri.

And monsters or not, he had a job to do.

***

"Well that's the stupidest story I've ever heard in my entire life." She pulled irately at the red curls stubbornly refusing to straighten under her un-gentle ministrations.

"Yeah," said Hunter. "Me too. And I lived it."

"So we're stuck here, is what you're telling me," Neesha summed up.

Hunter raised an eyebrow at her. "That was maybe zero point zero zero five of what I told you, but yeah. That is definitely a thing I am telling you."

"Can we get through the portals?"

"Only if we don't rescue the maiden powering it," Hunter said. "Which isn't really an option."

"Stop using that word," she said, making a face. "It's offensive and annoying."

"I made that argument," he noted neutrally, "but was vetoed."

"So what's our plan, here? Rescue the people who are captured and figure out how to get home later? What do we do with them after we've rescued them in that case?" She debated, briefly, just cutting the offending locks off. If they would not uncurl, perhaps more drastic measures were required.

"Link seems to think his makani friend can take care of them if we can get them to her. Also, stop pulling at your hair. The rain will take care of it when we go out."

She growled darkly but set her hands down. "Why wouldn't we figure out how to get home first?"

"Because leaving them in their crystals means leaving the portals open to Hyrule means aiding and abetting the Moblin invasion. We don't know the situation there, but it can't be good. We can't leave those portals open if we have the chance to close them."

"Who's left to rescue?"

"Goron-Link, Saria, Malon and Zelda."

"So useless, useless, useless, and super useless."

Hunter frowned at her. "That's hardly a fair assessment."

"Two little kids and couple of Hylian women. Oh yay."

"Two sages," Hunter corrected her, "and Goron-Link isn't that much younger than you, Miss I'm-An-Adult-Now-Stop-Pestering-Me."

"He's not a Gerudo, is he?" she demanded. "And Saria might be a sage, but she's still a little kid. Also, does that mean you admit that Malon is useless?"

"It means I admit her skills are not suited to this type of venture," he clarified. "And I grant you that Goron-Link is still too young and untrained to be much help. I respectfully disagree on the subject of the sages. Sages are very useful things."

"Oh yeah, the Sage of the Forest. What's she going to do? Make the grass grow? Oooooo! I'm shaking." She leaned forward on her knees in a pose that looked ridiculous in the pretty green dress she wore. Her expression was thoughtful. "I suppose Zelda's not entirely useless. The whole telepathic thing with Link might be useful in the right circumstances, and telekinesis isn't bad. Also," she added, "she did draw Link that map."

"What map?" Hunter asked. "I don't remember a map."

"It was after you got captured like the Hylian Princess you are," Neesha noted.

Hunter snorted. "At least I didn't swoon into a faint under the flirtatious attention of Lord Eldrick the Younger."

Something dark and dangerous settled into the centre of Neesha's face. "You have exactly three seconds to take that back before I shatter your spine."

Hunter raised his hands peaceably. "My mistake then," he said, maintaining his straight face with an effort. "It's the dress. It's confusing me."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she snapped.

"So…this map?" he reminded her.

She scowled at him, but shrugged. "I'm surprised you're not using it. Zelda had some kind of vision and drew it for Link while she was in the dungeon at the palace. Had Marni deliver it to us. Which is, you know, how this happened." She gestured disparagingly to the dress and the nowhere-near-as-straight-as-she-wanted-it-ponytail.

"Why would we be using it? What was it a map of?"

Neesha cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "A creepy, evilified version of Hyrule with a swamp where the desert's supposed to be. Why _wouldn't_ you be using it?" She frowned, then leaned back and crossed her arms. "Unless, of course, you've never seen it."

"A map of…," Hunter repeated, giving her an incredulous expression. "We have a map of that? Where is it?"

"Link put it in his pouch and evidently forgot he'd ever seen it," she answered, rolling her eyes. "It's probably still in there."

Something in Hunter's expression went sideways and he could not think of a single thing to say in response to that. Before Neesha could prod him, however, the tent flap flipped open and Apheri strode in. She had a neatly folded bundle in her hands.

"Sorry it took me so long," she said. "I couldn't remember if you were Red or Purple so I brought both. I thought Link said Red, but – no offence – you seem really young for that."

"I am really young for that," said Neesha flatly, holding out her hand for the red uniform. "But that doesn't change the fact that I earned it, same as everyone else."

Apheri's expression suggested that she was wondering what had happened to the standards of her sisters in her absence, but she shrugged and handed the scarlet uniform over. Neesha immediately got to her feet and proceeded to pull Marni's dress off as gently as she could manage; no mean feat given the strength of her desire to be free of the impractical garment. Hunter, to her mild surprise, did not appear to notice. He was distracted by some internal struggle.

She set the dress on her chair and picked up the uniform. She supposed it had served its purpose well enough, and she didn't imagine Marni had enough money to just replace it if she ruined it. She didn't want to have to buy the girl a new one, because she was sure in Hylian-speak that would mean they were just the best of friends, and the thought curdled her stomach. Better to just return the one she was loaned in one piece, with a curt "thank you" and a "never speak to me ever again."

Though the new uniform was not as comfortable as her own, it was worlds better than the dress had been. "Farore," she growled as she settled the small pouch she wore as a necklace when travelling under her shirt. "I can move again!"

There was a crash from the opposite side of the tent where Hunter had suddenly and viciously kicked Link's bag across the space, sending its contents scattering everywhere. Neesha and Apheri turned to stare at him in surprise, taken aback by the expression of extreme outrage on his face.

"He has a _map_?"

***

The crate landed with an echoing rattle, and the painfully small band of rebels stared at it with expressions ranging from curiosity to dread. "If we're going to achieve anything, here, we need to know what we're starting from," said Brayden, and he tipped the crate over with a foot. Wood and steel skittered across the floor, revealing an assortment of blades, bows, and other weapons. "Raise your hand if you think you actually know how to fight with any of these." Maybe ten of the thirty people raised their hands and Brayden bit back a sigh. At least half of them were lying, and the other half probably over-estimating their own abilities. But he nodded and gestured at the weapons anyway. "Pick your favourite and follow Bel. She'll test you in the next chamber to figure out where you stand in terms of skill."

He waited until they had all scooped up a weapon and left the room before turning back to the others. "What other skills do we have in the room. Any smiths?" Two. "Healers?" Nope, that would have been useful. "Cooks?" Three. "Alchemists?" One – a pleasant surprise. "Mages?" Wishful thinking. "Carpenters or masons?" Five. "And… merchants, farmers, academics, or housewives?" Nine.

"We're screwed," Renaud noted under his breath.

"Shut up," Brayden replied in kind, then raised his voice for the benefit of the others. "You are all going to have to learn to use one of these weapons. We don't have enough people with the necessary ability to pull this off without each of you at some point having to pick up a weapon and defend your fellows, or attack our enemies. Nor do we have the time to teach you properly. So it's going to be some quick and dirty lessons from myself, Renaud, and Liam. For the smiths, cooks, alchemists, carpenters and masons – I need you to talk to Mel. Give her a list of the basics for your crafts. What do you need to repair our gear, feed our folk, or pull together weapons or otherwise contribute to the cause. This list is going to form the basis for our second mission – we've got weapons, but now we need supplies."

"What about the rest of us?" asked someone near the back.

"We want to help," confirmed someone else.

"You form a line to talk to Renaud. You're going to give him a list of everyone you know, including what skills you think they may have and how likely they are to help or hinder us. The more people we have supporting us, the better our odds, and you're going to help us create a network."

He waited until they had all acknowledged these assignments, then turned them over to Renaud and left the room. He travelled down the damp halls of their make-shift sewer base and slipped into what had become their command room. Eldrick looked up when he came in.

"You really think any of this is going to work?" he asked. "Or are you just trying to keep them distracted?"

Brayden considered lying to him, then shrugged. "Little bit of both. We can't do anything with this group alone, we'll get massacred in the first confrontation. Arming them doesn't mean squat, since they've got no clue how to use the weapons. Half our 'fighters' walked away holding their weapons upside down or backwards. So we need to figure out how to expand our membership here, and this is a decent way to do it. We can test their resolve and train them up a bit on small missions to collect or steal supplies, and that'll give Renaud time to pull together a list of contacts we can go to to see about securing safe houses, supply lines, and maybe even some skilled assistance."

"Odds?"

"Slim, but not impossible."

"And if it fails?"

"Then they'll have been kept too busy to realize it's failing and will die content that they were doing something to save Hyrule."

"That's not much."

"It's what we have."

Eldrick frowned darkly and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't understand why you don't just go up there yourself and assassinate Durnam. Solve the problem in one go. Isn't that what you Sheikah do?"

Brayden gave him a dull look. "You know better than that."

"My point stands. Whether it's what you do or not, you can't deny that it's a thing you've done in the past. Why not now?"

"Because if I kill Durnam, he's got a dozen buddies just itching to take his place. And even if I proceeded to go through each and every one of them, I've no doubt the Moblins can just pull something like what Agahnim did with the King. Make the corpse sing and dance for the people, and we'll have accomplished nothing."

"Well we can't fight the Moblins," Eldrick growled. "We'd need an army, and even if the whole of Castletown joined us, we'd still be far short of the number of combatants we need."

"Exactly," Brayden said. "And right now the armies that we could call in are all kind of busy elsewhere. So what we do is run a rebellion. We harry, we bother, we inconvenience and we wait. Sooner or later somebody's going to be in a position to bring some real soldiers in here, and they're going to need someone to open the gates. Someone to distract the enemy. Someone to help."

"And that's us."

"That's us. Now," he said, pulling the map of the sewers from his bag and spreading it out on the table they'd made from loose rocks and cobblestones, "the others are busy, and I need your help."

"With?" Eldrick asked.

"We need to figure out some patrol paths in the immediate term to set up a watch. Then we need to identify our key routes in and out of strategic locations. Then pick some less-strategic places to block or collapse tunnels – preferably without taking half of Castletown with them. Then we need to figure out how to booby-trap the Hell out of the rest of them – we might want to bring the Alchemist in on that part of the discussion. I imagine she's got some ideas if we can get her thinking creatively enough."

For a long moment Eldrick stared at him and Brayden stared back. "You're serious about this," said the younger man. "About all of it."

Brayden did not flinch. "I am."

Eldrick watched him for a moment more, then rolled up his sleeves and approached the table.

***

Darunia slammed a massive fist into the chest of one of the unexpected attackers and sent the smaller creature flying with a strange, garbled yell. The language it spoke sounded familiar somehow, but he couldn't place it, and ultimately he had bigger concerns.

"Go!" he bellowed at the family he'd found cowering in their kitchen, being menaced by the attacker. "To the cemetery! The Sheikah will guide you down into the caverns, go!"

Terrified, they went.

He moved out of the house and proceeded to the next, wondering which of the three possible scenes he would find in this one – people in hiding, an abandoned house, or a family of corpses. Before he could make it, however, he heard a small cry from a nearby alley – too small and frightened to be one of the mysterious attackers. He redirected his feet and moved toward the sound.

As he rounded the corner he came across a caped invader with its monstrous hands wrapped around the neck of a small, freckled boy. The latter was kicking viciously, but futilely at his attacker, his face an impressive mix of terror and wrath. Darunia moved forward instantly, wrapping his own monstrous hand around the interloper's neck and squeezing until it let go of the little boy with a shriek. It twisted to try to get out Darunia's iron grip.

The Sage of Fire turned and hurled it bodily from the alley, listening to the sickening crack of it hitting a fence just beyond, before turning to the small child. The little boy was clutching his own neck and greedily sucking in air. He looked up at Darunia with huge blue eyes, and Darunia was surprised to see more confusion and horror than fear in them. "Everyone is hurt," he said hoarsely, tears threatening in his voice. "There are people…they're…I think they're dead…I think they killed them…."

"Shhh," said Darunia, "okay, it's okay." He leaned down and scooped the small boy up, then turned and moved out of the alley.

The little boy's eyes fell on the corpse of his attacker and he shuddered violently. "You killed it," he said.

Darunia rumbled uneasily. "I'm sorry, little one, they are leaving me little choice. I would have spared you the sight. Where are your parents? We'll go find them and get you all down to the Caverns where you'll be safe."

"I don't have any parents," said the little boy, and he straightened, as though remembering something.

"Well, then I'm going to drop you off with the Sheikah and they'll take care of you, all right?"

"No," he said. "Wait. You're Darunia. You're the Sage of Fire."

"Yes, that's right," he said, but looked away when someone called his name.

"Darunia!" Dune shouted as she darted out of a burning house just before the whole thing collapsed in on itself. "That's all of them! We can't wait much longer, we need to collapse the tunnel now!"

"I have a message for you!" the little boy gasped, but Darunia wasn't listening. He was looking out over the burning Kakariko with a deeply troubled expression on his face.

"Sorry Impa," he said heavily. "We did what we could. All right!" he called back to the Sheikan woman. "Let's go!"

"Please," the little boy begged. "Please, I have to tell you something!"

"Did we find his parents?" asked Dune, falling in step with the Goron as they ran

"I don't have any," the little boy said again. "Please, I—."

"Sorry sweetie," said Dune sympathetically. "But everything will be all right, okay? We'll protect you."

They slipped into the cemetery and the little boy fell silent, staring with wide eyes at the tombstones and their grim collection of names and dates and epitaphs. "What is this place?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why is it so sad?"

Darunia handed him off to the Sheikah standing guard over a hole dug in the ground near one of the tombstones and the little boy's mouth went dry. "Please," he said. "I don't want to go down there."

"It's okay," said Dune, touching his cheek gently and looking at him with kind eyes. "It's not as scary as it looks." She looked back up at the younger Sheikah holding him. "Bring him to the little Castletown girl. She's got a brother his age, I'm sure she'd be willing to watch him for us. He hasn't got any parents."

"Poor kid," said the Sheikah. Then he shifted his grip on the little boy and together they descended into the dark beneath the graves.

***

The pack of feral Gerudo returned, announcing their arrival with a harmony of howls. Apheri looked up at the sound and an uncertain expression crossed her face. "You two should stay here," she said, getting to her feet. "I don't…exactly understand what happened last night, and if some of them have gone wild I don't think it's a good idea for outsiders to be near them."

"I'm as Gerudo as you are," Neesha noted with a frown.

"Not to them," said Apheri with a shrug.

Hunter said nothing. He was busy rearranging the items in the bag to make room for Marni's dress, tearing items out or shoving them in with a good deal more force than was necessary. Neesha looked over at him, noted the dark expression on his face, then turned back to Apheri and shrugged.

The wolf-legged woman exited the tent into the rain.

"Hey," Neesha said, prompting an angry look from Hunter. "What the Hell? I get that you're angry, and I can't blame you, but since when is it news that Link is an idiot?"

"Did you not _hear_ the story I told you?" Hunter demanded. "Do you not understand what we've been through since I woke up here? Do you have _any idea_ how much of it may have been improved with access to something as simple as a map? I mean…," he paused, struggling to find words for what was going on in his head. "He _watched me_ trying to draw exactly that. He sat there and _commented on it_. He called it a fail-map! He actually said that! That's a thing he said!" He gestured wildly, inarticulate for a moment with rage. "How does that not trigger whatever part of his brain is responsible for indexing the contents of that goddess-damned pouch?" He held out a hand for the dress.

She pulled it tighter to her. "No," she snapped. "You'll shove it in there like you have everything else and it'll get ruined and I'll get blamed. What's wrong with you?"

"I just told you what's wrong with me!" he snarled.

"You're freaking out!" she pointed out irately. "Over something that is _completely unsurprising_. It can't possibly just be the map?"

"Just…give me the dress," he snapped.

Neesha opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a pained groan as the bloodied Hero of Time limped into the tent.

"Urgh," he managed, hands pressed tightly to his temples. "I feel like I've been—Nayru! Neesha!" His expression was astonished and he just stared at her for a moment.

"Yello," she replied negligently.

The sound of her voice spurred him into action. He staggered across the tent and pulled her into a crushing hug – she only just managed to hold the dress out to protect it from the blood and mud all over him. Something glinted in Hunter's eyes and he redirected his outstretched hand toward the green-clothed man. "Hey, Link, toss me your pouch, would you?"

Link didn't even pause to think about it. He pulled back from Neesha – much to the latter's relief – and untied his pouch from his belt. He tossed it negligently to the Sheikah. "Oh my Goddess," he said, "how did you get free? What happened?"

"Some burnt up Avatar freed me apparently," Neesha said. "I don't know. I'm starting to think whatever you two have been eating out here is spiked with something." She shot a side-long look at Hunter who was digging around in the bottomless pouch with a grim determination. "Something's off."

Link shrugged with a frown. "Everything's off," he said. "It's the Dark World. It's a messed up place to start with, but it's screwing with our heads on top of that. You don't feel it?"

Neesha shook her head. "I feel fine," she said. "No different than usual."

"Probably just hasn't hit you yet." He moved to hug her again, but she raised a threatening hand and he apparently decided he didn't have the energy left to fight her for it. "I'm guessing Hunter explained everything?"

"I'm not the only one who's been explaining things," said the latter darkly. Picking up on the menacing note in his voice, Link turned to look at him. In one hand he held the bottomless pouch. In the other he was holding up a piece of parchment in a way that suggested it was incriminating. "This," Hunter said, anger burning brightly in his eyes, "is a map of the Dark World."

##  **Chapter 24**

Oh Hell. The map. The _map_!

I'm _such_ an idiot.

There is something unpleasant in Hunter's face and I am suddenly fully aware of the various aches, stings, and throbbing that are the Beast's gift to me after a night of running around and doing I don't even want to know what in the Mire. There is a fight in his eyes and I don't have the energy for it. I really don't.

"Hunter," I say quickly, turning away from Neesha fully, "listen—!"

"You've been wandering around with a map in your pouch _this entire time_!" he cries. "Are you _kidding me_? You never thought to look at it?"

"Do you know how much junk I have in this bag that I never think to look at?" I say defensively, irritated by the accusation in his voice. "And it's not like I've been just sitting on my thumbs with nothing to do but think! It has _not_ been a good few weeks, okay? You're lucky I remember my _name_ most days!"

"Link—."

"Give it to me," I cut him off. "It's probably not even accurate. Her visions are so symbolic as to be useless ninety percent of the time."

He crosses the floor to stand beside me and spreads the map wide. For a moment a brief fit of melancholy darkens my mood – I wish I'd had the chance to talk to her before Agahnim locked her away in here; whatever dream spawned this thing was not pleasant. The feeling twists into something closer to a reflexive annoyance when I recognize the growing knot of rage in Hunter's face as he considers the map.

I didn't understand the chart the first time I looked at it – which might explain part of why I didn't remember I had it; I'd assumed it was just a useless picture of a symbol from Zelda's dream – but I do now, and as I look at it and come to terms with exactly what it is, it occurs to me that there is no way in Heaven or Hell that I'm going to be able to avoid this fight.

There's the Dark World Kakariko, with a little diamond symbol drawn over. There's Anduriel's realm, her tortured orchard, and her defiled temple (where one would expect to see Lake Hylia and Zora's Domain), again with a diamond symbol. And there's the mire, a third diamond symbol traced over it.

There are three other diamonds – one in the Lost Woods equivalent (still a forest), one in the Hyrule Field equivalent (now some kind of ice-lake), and one in Death Mountain (which, and I'm not getting over this, is known affectionately here as Turtle Rock). A fourth and final diamond is sort of off to the side with a question mark drawn in it.

"Hey," says Neesha helpfully, peering over our shoulders, "I bet those are where the maidens are being held."

Hunter's head snaps up and I meet his eyes reluctantly. "Link," he repeats, very slowly, "this is a map of the Dark World. A…a map of the Maidens' locations. I mean, she even…she even drew a warning sign on the Mire! Look!" He waves the map in a half-crazed fashion in my face. "Right there! A warning!"

"It's not like we came to the Mire on purpose," I note wearily, feeling more than a little defensive, "so really the warning wouldn't have been that helpful."

And that's just it. I can actually see everything coming to a head in his eyes – the stress of waking up and nearly getting killed by your best friend who is also a monster, of having to deal with people thinking you're someone you're not because a jackass was impersonating you, of travelling half way across the Dark World only to get dragged back the other way by a pack of lupine Gerudo, of participating in a Blood Challenge against a corrupted angel who _eats eyes_ , of having to take care of said best friend at night when he's a rabbit stuffed in a bag and prone to running away, of not sleeping nearly enough if at all, of being bruised and beaten and rained on and cold and hungry forever. All of it collapses in on itself in his face – he hands the map entirely too calmly to Neesha to protect – and then abruptly explodes outward in a massive fit of rage. I don't even have time to dodge.

"Hunter wait!" I cry, covering my face with my arms as he tackles me to the ground.

"I'm going to kill you!" he shrieks, punching me hard in the stomach. It hurts more than it should thanks to the wounds I'm already suffering from, and the pain causes the dull rage lurking at the back of my heart to surge to the forefront. Hunter, in the meantime, is unsatisfied with just hitting my stomach. He grapples with my hands to get them away from my face so he can break my nose, which is what he really wants to do. "After everything – all of it – and you've been sitting on a map! A _map_! _Literally_ sitting on it!"

"I didn't remember!" I shout, grabbing his wrists before he can punch me again. We fight for a moment, twisting and wrestling with each other. The force of the struggle rolls us out of the tent and into the rain. In the end, I manage to pin him down under me in the mud. "I told you, I've been distracted and I didn't think it mattered! This hasn't been easy for me either, you know!"

"No sympathy!" he snarls, struggling violently to get out of my hold. "All of your problems are your own doing! _All_ of them! Why do I let you talk me into these things?" There's a crazy, off-kilter look in his face, and I can sense it mirrored in my own. There's a more reasoned part of me that understands this is the Dark World acting on both of us – putting pressure on weak points rendered weaker by this entire, impossible misadventure. But even if I wanted to listen to it, I couldn't. "You know what? All of _my_ problems are _your_ doing too!"

"Not fair," I snarl, uncaring about the growing crowd of lupine Gerudo gathering around us. The Gerudo back home would have pulled us apart by now and I'd be screaming at them not to kill Hunter for attacking me. These Gerudo just start laying bets. "How is it my fault you refused to learn archery? How is it my fault you're too stubborn to walk way when I have a stupid idea?"

"I'm trying to _help_!" he yells, wrenching one arm free of my hold.

"You're _trying_ to prove you're right!" I snap angrily. "Can't walk away before the I-Told-You-So, can—!" His elbow catches me in the side of the head and I topple off him. He wastes no time in lunging for me and, you know what? Fine. We mutually agree to abandon words entirely in favour of trying to drown each other in the mud.

At one point I've got Hunter pinned down again and I'm raising my fist to break _his_ nose – show _him_ who told who so – when someone wraps their hand in the back of my tunic and hauls me bodily backward. Enraged at being pulled away from the target of my violence, I turn and take a swing at the interloper.

Neesha side steps it easily and follows up by cracking her knuckles across my jaw. I go flying. I slam into Hunter, who was trying to pick himself up, and we both go down in a heap.

" _What_ the _Hell_ is _wrong_ with you two?" she snarls, feet in a wide fighting stance, fists raised in case either of us wishes to continue taking it up with her. "You're trying to kill each other over a _map_!"

"Holy Three, she _was_ Gerudo!" exclaims someone near the back of the crowd.

"He started it!" I snap, shoving Hunter as I get back to my feet. "Jackass!"

"What a stirring defence," Hunter growls pushing himself up. "Like the three-year-old you are!"

"Shut up!" Neesha cries before I can continue to drag the conversation as deep into the mud as Hunter and I just were. "Goddess, just _shut up_. Link, you're already injured. Get into the tent before you hurt yourself worse than you already have."

The haze of anger starts to subside beneath the confused disgust in her eyes, but Anahti, standing on the inside of the ring of Gerudo to my left, snorts. "You going to take that from a little girl? Some King."

And that's all it takes for the rage to reassert itself. It's like these women have a direct line to the Beast and can summon it up whether I want it or not. I abandon my fight with Hunter and lunge at Neesha instead.

She was ready for me to attack, but not for the ferocity with which I do it – rage enough to make up for how tired and hurt I am. The Gerudo begin cheering, like a background buzzing in my ears, like the edge on the adrenaline rush pushing me forward. Neesha ignores them, her face settling into an angry, determined expression.

She ducks my first swing and blocks the follow-up, spinning into a kick designed to take me out. But I grab her leg and twist, sending her toward the ground. She lands on her hands and pushes herself back up in a spring. As she whirls to face me, sending a spray of rain from the end of her ponytail, there is a sudden hardness in her face that means the gloves are officially off.

She launches herself at me, fists a blur. I respond in kind, but I'm not thinking straight. I'm too angry. I don't even try to block her, so for every hit I land, I take another four. And all the while there's a tiny voice at the back of my mind shrieking at me that this is my friend. My sister. What am I doing? But it's so quiet I can barely hear it.

It's not until I make a vicious strike at her, way too much power, not enough aim, that something breaks through. She twists out of the way, but only barely, and I wind up tearing a small pouch she was wearing as a necklace free of her neck. That tiny voice suddenly becomes a very loud voice and my previous anger is overwhelmed by a rush of horror and regret. I stop, confused.

Neesha, unaware of my unexpected change of heart, slams her foot into my back and sends me flying down into the mud.

I push myself up again very slowly, panting heavily and wincing as I roll myself over to stare at her with wide eyes.

She stands in the rain and the mud, still in a ready stance, staring at me with a mixture of offence and hurt in her face, not understanding much of what just happened.

I don't have the words to explain it to her. I don't want to explain it to her. Shame burns my cheeks a bright red and I look back and forth from her to Hunter. "I'm sorry," I manage hoarsely. "I don't…that wasn't…." Words fail me and I swallow thickly.

"That's it?" Anahti demands, disappointed.

The barb does nothing. Provokes no reaction. The Beast suddenly isn't there to answer her.

I turn and lift Neesha's pouch from the mud, staring at it uncomprehendingly. "Neesha," I say slowly, turning back to look at her. "What is this?"

"A pouch," she says, watching me warily. "For little things I don't want anyone to find."

"What's in it?" Hunter asks. Some of the anger has bled from his face as well as he begins to understand the order of events.

"A couple rupees, the key to my lockbox in the fort," she answers, not understanding this conversation any more than anything that preceded it. "Oh," she adds as an afterthought, "and a big pearl I stole from the wizard."

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"It's not adding up," Harker said, a frown drawing his moustache down at the corners. "How could the rebels have killed Shenyan? They're holed up down in the sewers, and they're hardly a major threat. How did they get through his security?"

"They have at least two Sheikah with them," Durnam reminded him. He did not turn to look at the other nobleman, choosing instead to slowly pour himself water from the nearby decanter. "If you count that insufferable servant our late colleague used to employ."

"Are you joking?" Harker demanded. "Have you even heard the reports? Whoever did it made such a mess of him the guard who found what was left of the corpse nearly faints every time you try to talk to him about it. That's not Sheikan handiwork."

"Well it's not Hylian either, is it?" Durnam snapped. He set the decanter back down on its tray and it rattled condemningly at him. Damn his shaking hands.

"No," Harker agreed. "It's not. So it's either an independent, completely random, or something we haven't considered." There was something heavy and a little frightened in his voice. "You don't think it's…well, _them_ do you?"

"No," Durnam said quickly, turning to look at him at last. "Why would they? They gain nothing."

"They're beasts, Durnam," Harker snapped. "What motivation have they ever needed?"

"These ones are different and you know it," Durnam told him. "And besides, with Agahnim gone they're completely under my control."

Something sharpened in Harker's gaze. "Indeed," he said and got to his feet. "I'll keep that in mind."

Durnam didn't bother to reply. He simply stood with his untouched water in his hand and watched the younger man leave. "Din," he swore as the door fell shut.

"What matter?" said a guttural voice from behind him. He gasped and nearly dropped the glass as he whirled around. The Moblin who lead the others of his ilk stood in a dark corner of the room, porcine amusement written broad on its face.

Durnam blanched. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a hiss. "You're not supposed to come to my personal quarters."

The Moblin snorted derisively and said nothing.

"Are you responsible for Shenyan's death?" Durnam demanded. "Was that you?"

"Not me," said the Moblin. "Maybe another, yes?"

"Don't lie to me, monster!" Durnam snapped, hands tight on his glass. "Who else could it have been?"

"Why mad?" the Moblin demanded, snickering. "Shenyan threat, yes? Shenyan want throne. Throne yours. We promise."

"Shenyan could have been controlled," Durnam cried, then abruptly lowered his voice. "You didn't need to kill him!"

"No?" said the Moblin. A smile split its face, as wicked and curved as its blade. "Mistake. No more."

"No! No more. Don't kill anyone unless I tell you to!"

"Kay," said the Moblin. "No more. You control, boss." It snickered again.

"Honey?" called a tired voice from down the hallway. "Is everything okay?"

Durnam hissed and moved to cut his wife off before she could enter the room and see the beast in the corner. "Yes, love," he said, kissing her forehead and turning her around. "It was just Harker. He's taking that unpleasantness with Shenyan poorly."

"Unpleasantness," repeated the Moblin, snickering yet again, amused by the word.

"Who's there?" his wife asked, craning her neck to look.

"No one, darling, don't worry about it. I'll chase them out soon enough and be back in bed before you can blink, all right?"

She continued to frown down the hallway, suspicion pushing some of the sleep from her eyes, but at last nodded and moved back into their bedroom.

He returned to the parlour and scowled darkly at the Moblin, who just continued smiling its demented smile. "Harker suspicious, yes?" it noted in a tone it no doubt thought was cajoling. "Shame. He _unpleasant_ , maybe. He unpleasant to your family, yes?"

"Get out," Durnam snapped, voice trembling with rage. "Just get out. We will discuss this later."

"Okay," said the Moblin. "You boss." Its snuffling laugh lingered for a moment on the air after it vanished from where it had been sitting with a soft pop.

Durnam stared at where it had been, then put his water down on the table and reached for the wine.

***

"Wait!" the little boy cried as the Sheikah who dropped him off waved and closed the door. "I need to talk to the Sages! Please!"

"That's a kind of spice," said Cota with a frown. "For cooking. You can't talk to it."

The little boy rounded on him, freckled face offended. "It's not a spice, it's a kind of person!" he argued. "It's a wise person with magic powers, don't you know anything?"

"Now now," said Marni, turning around to face them. "Cota, be nice. You don't know what the poor thing's been through." She dropped into a crouch, her long skirts brushing the ground, and met the little boy's eyes. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Mido," said the boy, shy suddenly. "I'm here on a mission for the Great Deku Tree. I need to speak with the Sages or maybe a general."

"Trees don't give missions," said Cota, rolling his eyes. "They're _trees_."

"Well where I'm from they _do_ give missions!" Mido cried, rounding on the boy. "And we're all in _big trouble_ if I don't find someone to give my message to! People are…they're…they're _dying_!" His voice cracked dangerously and something crumpled in his face.

"Shhh!" said Marni, taking his chin and forcing him to look at her. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay. You're safe, Mido, I promise, okay? We're in the Sheikah Caverns. The Sheikah will protect us, it's okay. The bad people can't get us here."

"Yes they can!" Mido said, growing ever closer to tears. "They're probably here now! I have to go!"

Marni was considering him very closely. "What kind of tree did you say gave you the mission?"

"The Great Deku Tree," Mido repeated, shooting Cota a dirty look before the older boy could complain again. "He's very important."

"Great Deku," repeated Marni. "I've heard that somewhere." She blinked. "Oh. That's the tree in the Lost Woods that Sir Link used to—oh!" She covered her mouth with a hand and her eyes went wide. "Oh my goodness! You're a Kokiri!"

"A Kokiri?" Cota repeated, straightening. "He is not! You are not. Are you? You're not."

"I am," said Mido proudly, puffing his chest out. "And I'm on a mission for the Great Deku Tree."

"So you don't grow up at all?" Cota asked, curious suddenly. He climbed down off the bed to move over and inspect Mido more closely. "Where's your fairy? I thought Kokiri had fairies."

The mention of fairies made Mido's lip quiver and he lowered his eyes. "I left my fairy at home," he said. "I didn't want…anything to happen…."

"Why aren't you dressed in green? All the forest kids are supposed to be in green."

"My clothes weren't warm enough," Mido said, rubbing roughly at his eyes. "Mr. Brayden found me these ones instead so I wouldn't freeze while travelling."

"Mr. Brayden!" Marni gasped again.

"Marni," said Cota dully, as though annoyed beyond endurance, "stop repeating everything. You're embarrassing me."

"Hush Cota," said Marni, crinkling her nose at her brother. "You've been to Castletown? You've spoken with Mr. Brayden?"

"Yes," said Mido. "I gave him my message, but the people here in Kakariko don't know yet and I need to tell them before it's too late."

Marni threw an uncertain look at the door. "They…they said we had to stay here," she said. "I don't know if we should…can you tell me what the message is?"

Mido shifted his weight and hesitated. "The Great Deku tree said it was for the Sages or the Generals or for Brayden."

Marni took his hand in hers and gave him a pleading look. "Please, sweetie. I'll help you find someone to tell if you tell me what it is. It's the only way we'll be able to get anyone's attention right now, okay?"

A blush stole across Mido's face and he stared at her hand clasping his for a moment. He swallowed thickly. He wondered if the Great Deku Tree would be mad that he didn't follow instructions exactly. And he wondered if the Great Deku Tree would be mad that he let himself get locked in a room while his message went unheard and people died.

Whatever would anger the Great Deku Tree more, Mido knew which of the two he could live with. "They're Moblins," he said finally. "The attackers. They're a new kind of Moblin. They can cast spells and they're hiding themselves with magic and you can only tell what they are if you know the secret, and the secret is that they're actually Moblins."

For a moment Marni said nothing. She wanted to laugh and wave him off and tell him that was silly. Tap his nose and shake her head and put both he and Cota to bed and go on pretending things were going to work out. But she couldn't quite make her mouth work to do it. As his words sank in, she slowly began to realize that he was speaking the truth. That what would have seemed ridiculous prior to him speaking, now made perfect sense.

There were Moblins hiding among the people of Kakariko, and it was these that had turned and attacked them.

The Sheikah and Gorons had taken the people of Kakariko into the Caverns to protect them from attackers.

The attackers were in the Caverns and no one knew except for her, and the two little boys in front of her. She could see on Cota's face a similar realization sinking in.

She blanched and got to her feet. She took two steps to the door, pulled it open, and ran out into the hallways, screaming for Darunia or Impa or Dune or anyone who would listen.

***

The stone was a humble thing. Little more than an arm's length, and only about as thick, but its speckled grey colour hid flecks of something that caught the dim light the way a song catches a child's attention. It had the shape of a perfect skipping stone, though far too large, and the one for whom it was intended had been fond of such games once.

In the old days she would have used a more fitting material, but these days one made do with what one had.

Her mount's blue head snorted behind her and she waved dismissively at it with a taloned hand. "Hush," she scolded it. "Things happen as they are meant to, and we are not currently meant to be in a rush. I want her to have more than just a note in Mudora's useless book."

The second of the beast's heads, the crimson one, tilted to look at her in a questioning way. She tilted hers back in response, sending long ebony ringlets spilling over her thickly curled ram's horns. "Death does not always end one's journey," she explained. "It was not appropriate until now."

The stone head did nothing. Simply stared forward at the road on which they travelled and contemplated the future.

She settled herself on the bank of the dark river and spread her black wings wide, to draw whatever warmth they could from the pathetic sun. With the heavy stone in her lap, she began her work. Again and again and again she drew her dark claw against its unforgiving surface until she was satisfied with this first gouge in her carving. Then she moved on to the next.

The work was dull and repetitive, but honest and simple, and that more than made up for it. There wasn't much left that had those qualities these days. The world had once again grown dark and complex, and what honesty there was left was limited to small acts and brief exchanges. A sweet child's unwelcome question. The tattered feathers of a sister, betrayed and broken. A simple stone, with only a single word to bear witness to an entire life. These things were honest, and inescapable.

All part of a plan she could not have questioned if she wanted to. And she did. She did want to.

She paused in her work as a familiar presence intruded on her mental space. _What are you doing?_ The voice was stiff and cold, but the tone was a veil over genuine curiosity.

She smiled wryly and resumed her carving. "Have you decided to cease your hurling of insults and unfair words, then?"

_I've said nothing unfair,_ the voice retorted stubbornly.

"You called me a monster."

_You are one._

"I work for one. That's different," she corrected the voice.

_You choose to work for one,_ the voice responded huffily. _You choose to act on his order and follow his commands._

"You see?" she said, delicately dragging her talon in the shape of an 'O' on the rock. The left side was just a smidge too straight, so she began smoothing the initial marks out with a thumb. "You're being unfair. Did you _choose_ to be the Seventh Sage? Or the Princess of Hyrule? Or descended from a long line of both?" She pulled back to consider her work so far and, satisfied, leaned back in to continue. "Perhaps you chose your parents, and their parents, and their parents all the way back to the First War."

_Those are circumstances and titles,_ responded the Princess curtly. _They have nothing to do with my choices._

"And my actions to date have nothing to do with mine," she answered the mortal woman calmly. She lifted the rock to her lips to blow the dust of her carving from its surface, then set to it once more. "I am no mortal, burdened by questions of Free Will and Fate. I know where I am free, and I know where I am bound, and if I am a monster, it is because another has declared it so. If my actions offend you, you may take it up with him. I gather that that is your destiny, after all."

_And how would you like me to do that?_ she snapped, anger threatening to completely ruin the coolly professional tone she had adopted. _You've imprisoned me in a rock that you wear as a ring. Perhaps you could_ propose _to your master and see if he marries you. Then at least I would be one step closer to him._

The image struck her funny bone and she chuckled. "What an amusing creature you are!" she said. "You should lose your temper more often, Princess. You are far more clever than you let on."

_You know nothing about me_.

"Oh I know a great deal about you," she replied with a shrug. She was forced to pause her carving to brush her ebony ringlets from her grey shoulder. "In fact, I would venture to say that I know everything about you."

_Do you expect me to believe—_

"You had your first vision when you were eight and in it you saw your future," she cut the Sage off. The woman's stunned silence was more than a little rewarding. "You saw yourself chained to a throne that may as well be a prison, bound by others' expectations of you, forever fighting a war against the nameless forces that work constantly against you and your Kingdom and all that it and you represent. You saw yourself surrounded by people all the time, but excruciatingly lonely. You saw relationships you needed and craved, but which, themselves, were tied to responsibilities and requirements that meant they could never be fully realized. You saw pain and hardship and sacrifice, and however bright the moments in between, they were so faint a minority as to be negligible. And you saw this life as a link in a chain, one that stretched back so far you couldn't even see the start of it, and moved forward beyond you to a future so murky you wept. Hyrule the Kingdom, Hyrule the land, Hyrule the idea needed you, and that need was so great it would ultimately consume you."

_How do you know that?_ the young woman asked hoarsely.

"When you woke from this vision," she continued, ignoring the question. "You were inconsolable. People assumed you were grieving the recent loss of your mother, and you were too young to explain their mistake. You didn't have near the vocabulary to tell them the truth of it. Of what you'd seen, and what you now knew. You cried all night and not your nurse maid, nor Impa, nor your father could still your trembling frame. The next morning you asked your nurse to take you to the gardens near the palace wall, and, desperate to cheer you, she did so. When her back was turned you climbed a tree, dropped over the wall, and limped away from the palace and that life as fast as you could. They launched a fruitless search for you, your father was ready to call in the military by dusk, but you returned of your own accord. Dirty and cold and weeping, your brief defiance of this fate you foresaw defeated. Do you even know what simple thing it was that defeated you, Princess? I doubt it. But I do."

_How?_ Zelda snapped, upset by this retelling.

"Because I am meant to," she replied, unconcerned. "But that is the past, and the past is boring. I only remember it in such detail because I was curious then which path you would ultimately choose. As I have been many times throughout your life and those before it. I've proven my point well enough and no longer feel like discussing it. If you wish to know things you _were_ you would do better to speak with my sister in the far flung woods."

_You're a prophet?_ She sounded surprised.

"In a manner," she answered. "I know the futures open to you and all others. But the future bores me as much as the past. More options and paths than your finite mind can comprehend, and none of them real until a decision is made, and then all others rendered null. It hardly matters what _will_ happen, until it does."

_So the present is your concern, then._

"No, the future _is_ my concern," she said with a slight frown. "More's the pity. But it is the present in which I am interested. That delicious moment in which the universe hovers on the edge of a choice, and a thousand thousand realities wait to see if they are the one born of it, or if they, in the end, simply never exist. It's technically not my business, but I can't help but watch. Like a child who's never had ice cream watches a man with a cone and wonders how it tastes and feels and smells."

The Princess fell silent once more, and the only sound disturbing the afternoon was the scrape of the winged-thing's talon on the stone. When she finished the last letter she held it up to examine it with a critical eye. The one for whom it was meant had never been overly concerned with perfection, quite content to accept things as they were and love them anyway, but what, if not that precise quality, was more deserving of perfection?

The Princess' presence stirred in the back of her mind. _Who is Nobernal?_ she asked.

But the sound of the name hurt more than she expected and she neglected to answer. Instead she leaned forward to place the smooth stone in the scraggly grass of the riverbank. "There is a moment, much like the one I mentioned earlier, taking place right now. A young man very important to you has made a decision he regrets, driven by a thing within himself he cannot control. But as a result he has found his freedom from the Dark World's chains." She fussed over the positioning of the stone for a moment, then sat back to consider it. "He is confused and hurt and badly in need of a friend, but his mind is clear in a way it has not been since he arrived."

Without warning her throat grew tight, as though invisible hands were wrapped around her neck. She felt the chains of Power tighten around her heart, squeezing until it hurt. She gasped despite herself, raising a hand to clutch at her chest.

It was a thin line she was walking, but she'd known that before she'd ever set foot on it and she would be damned if she stopped now – she knew where she was free and she knew where she was bound, and no matter how he railed and lashed her, she was free to do this. "The wall you have been trying to breach within him is down," she managed with an effort. Her talons were tight on the stone, knuckles pale. "Perhaps you could pester him for a time, and leave me to my grief."

The Princess struggled with a slew of reactions – surprise, suspicion, uncertainty, and an empathy that would have been unexpected if she did not already know all possible paths – but ultimately was unable to resist her own desperate hopes that she might finally be able to get through to the Hero. She receded from the winged-thing's mind and was no doubt invading the personal mental space of the Hero in the next breath.

The physical pain did not pass right away. Her master was displeased and he had never been slow to address that when the need arose. She bowed her head over the carved stone and forced herself to breathe deeply, waiting for his wrath to fade.

When it finally relented, she wiped her forehead with a trembling hand and reflected on her situation. She liked the Princess, she did. Understood her struggle with the unobtainable balance between freedom and responsibility. Respected her for facing a future as rife with conflict and unhappiness as the present with her back straight and her head held high. Appreciated her ability to make difficult decisions that would paralyze a lesser mortal, and live with the consequences with as much grace as she could muster.

Were things different, and her master not the man he was, she would have sought to take the young woman under her wing, teach her ways to use her powers that she could not even imagine, show her the beauty in her gifts, not just the curse they carried.

But those choices had already been made, and the reality in which that was possible had already vanished. Her master was what he was, and there was nothing she could do about that. The past was boring, and the future pointless. All that mattered was the present.

She pressed a kiss to her fingers, and pressed those fingers to the speckled grey stone. "At least for you, dear sister, the fight is over." She pushed herself to her feet and turned away without looking back.

Her mount's cerulean head hissed a question at her. "If we are lucky, we will be joining her soon."

The scarlet head bowed sadly as she climbed onto its shell and took up the reigns. "Soon enough, Trinexx," she answered it. "Soon enough."

The stone head did nothing. Simply stared forward at the road on which they travelled and contemplated the future.

##  **Chapter 24 (cont.)**

"A moon pearl," Hunter says for the three thousandth time since we returned to our tent. He winces as he drags a wet cloth across the bloody cut on his cheek where I must have caught him with a fist. "A moon pearl. And a map. An artifact of enough power to put most of Link's toys to shame, and a map of the very place in which we were lost. And you have both been sitting on them right from the start."

"You need new friends," Apheri says, doing the same to my face. I would do it myself but my hands are shaking and there is not a piece of my body that is not rebelling on me right now and I'm afraid of making it worse. She is decidedly less gentle with me than I feel she should be. I get that this is because I'm a Gerudo and therefore do not require gentleness and thus is technically a compliment but holy mother of _go easy would you_.

"I really do," Hunter agrees.

"All right, that's that. I don't think you'll need stitches anywhere you don't already have them." She drops her bloody cloth into a bowl of water and snorts. "That much noise and not a _real_ wound between you. Like a couple of puppies gnawing on each other."

"I was tired," I defend myself. "I still am, thanks for asking. I need to sleep or I'm going to do something embarrassing like pass out."

"Where did you get it, Neesha?" Hunter asks, pulling his muddy shirt over his head to get better access to a welt on his shoulder. "The pearl, I mean."

Neesha, who is standing in the corner and refusing to help patch either one of us up because she thinks we're stupid (which is fine by me, since I can't even bring myself to make eye contact with her right now), shrugs.

"You didn't steal it from one of the mages, did you?" I demand, as I reach for my tunic.

She wrinkles her nose. "Everything they own smells like old people. I wouldn't touch it if you paid me."

"Was it Marni's?" Hunter asks in a voice that suggests he will proceed immediately to the nearest cliff and jump off it if the answer is yes because why do all the not-nearly-cool-enough people in his life keep getting all the cool things?

Neesha, mortally offended at the implication that she falls into any group anywhere near the one Marni is in, huffs at him. "No," she snaps. "It's mine."

I frown at her in a decidedly unimpressed fashion as I pull the green shirt back on. "You mean it's someone else's, and you stole it."

Apheri raises an eyebrow. "Do we not do that anymore?" She looks back and forth between me and Neesha, vaguely distressed. "Seriously? We stopped stealing?"

"No, we still steal, just not when his Holiness is watching." She gives me an equally unimpressed frown. "I was going to convert it into cash for your Solstice present, FYI, but now I think I'll give it to Hunter."

"So where did you get it?" Hunter asks again. The fact that no one has yet sated his curiosity is clearly causing him concern.

"Agahnim's ugly tower," Neesha answers.

"Oh," I say. "You stole it from Agahnim. Okay then. You're forgiven."

"Somebody want to tell me what a moon pearl is?" Apheri asks.

"It's an incredibly rare artifact used generally to augment or protect against the effects of big-time magic," Hunter says. "I didn't even know there were any left."

"Sahasrahla used to own one," I say. "I think, anyway. Said he lost it ages ago, but it used to—"

_LINK!_

The unexpected mental cry cuts me off before I can finish my sentence, and the tent and the mire and my friends blur alarmingly. I have just enough time to feel my physical legs give out under me before the world disappears entirely. It isn't gone for long, but when it returns I'm not staring at the inside of a patchwork tent in a swamp where a desert should be. I'm staring at the cool marble of the walls of Temple of Time.

"Link!" calls a female voice from behind me. I whirl around and meet the wide eyes of the Princess of Hyrule.

"Zelda!" I gasp. She rushes toward me, but hard-earned instinct overrides my shock at last and I back peddle in a panic. "No! Stop," I snap. "Stay back."

"Link—"

"What's going on?" I demand, face darkening dramatically. I stare wildly around the Temple, trying to verify all the details. Sombre stone altar with three indentations, unseen choir, strangely comforting feeling – check, check, check. I turn and stare at the woman who is pretending to be Zelda, giving her the same treatment. Long blonde hair, imperially arched eyebrow, unimpressed frown –check, check, check. If it's an imitation, it's an excellent one.

"I could ask you the same thing," she notes, perplexed. She crosses her arms under her chest and a wry expression settles on her face. "This isn't quite the welcome I expected."

"Yeah, whatever," I say, scowling. I feel an anger stirring in my chest that for once has nothing to do with the beast. "Is this a trick? Because I already fell for this once. This exact play. Twice if you change the characters and the setting, okay? I'm getting…I'm _really tired_ of you people impersonating my friends. Who are you? How are you doing this?"

Her face softens and she uncrosses her arms. "Link," she says gently, "it's me. Zelda. I promise. I'm not Agahnim. Or anyone else."

I hesitate, and my traitorous heart allows a pathetic seed of hope to bloom. Her eyes…are her own. They're not cloudy, like last time. But then, neither were Hunter's when Blind was impersonating him…but how many doppelgangers could there possibly be on Ganon's payroll?

And what if I'm right and this _is_ a trick?

But what if I'm wrong, and it's _not_?

What if this…what if this really _is_ Zelda?

"How are you here, then?" I demand. "You were captured." There is a good deal more desperate plea than wild accusation in my voice, but I haven't got the energy to find a more strategic tone. This is why this trick works so consistently. I just want it to be real so badly I'm willing to fall for it. "The others have all been imprisoned in crystals, why aren't you?"

"I am imprisoned," she says, and taps her head. "But I'm a lot harder than that to trap up here, and being in the Sacred Realm – whatever it's been turned into – makes me a lot stronger than usual." She takes a hesitant step forward. "Link, it's me. I swear it. Just…ask me a question. Let me prove it to you. Ask me anything."

I don't even need to think about it. "Marry me."

"No."

No hesitation. No searching for a stolen memory. A legitimate, honest answer. I want to rush over to her but I can't even manage that. It's too much. The wave of relief – relief that she's okay, relief that she's here, relief that I can talk to her – is too much for my overloaded brain to take. My knees give out and I sink to the floor, but she's crossed the gap in two steps and sinks with me, her arms wrapped tightly around me, one hand buried in my hair beneath my hat.

I laugh helplessly into her neck, drinking in the scent of her. "That never gets easier to hear, you know."

She snorts in an unladylike fashion into my hat. "Never gets easier to say."

I return her embrace tightly and kiss her. "Zelda I'm sorry," I say. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you got captured. I'm sorry I didn't get to you in time."

"Don't," she says. "It's not something _you_ need to apologize for. It was my mistake that got me captured, and my own fault that I didn't rescue myself." She pulls back to take my chin in her hand and looks me straight in the eyes, searching them. "I've been trying to contact you since you arrived here," she says softly. "But I couldn't. Your mind was like a hurricane, there was nowhere for me to grab." Her expression is serious and concerned. "I could sense what you were going through, around the edges. Link, I've never been so scared for you in my life – and you've given me plenty of reason in the past to be scared for you." She lets go of my chin and pulls back from our embrace to take my hand. "What's happened?"

I don't want to tell her. It's not exactly a happy story, and it wasn't fun to live through the first time, let alone a second. What I want to do is grab her and curl up around her like she's some kind of nice-smelling teddy bear and just sleep for like a million years. "Yours first," I say, avoiding her gaze. "Where are you? What happened after you freed Thomas?"

"Link," she says flatly, seeing right through this ploy, "my story is short and boring, as you can well imagine, seeing as I've spent the bulk of it unconscious and/or imprisoned in a rock. I want to know yours, and you can deny it all you want, but you need to tell it."

I snort. "What, are you reading my mind now?" I demand, turning to look at her.

But her expression is earnest and I regret the snark immediately. "I'm reading your face, Link," she says. "It's not hard."

I stare at her for a long moment, unable or unwilling to start. But she's not looking away or bending, and if I am honest with myself, it can't have been any more pleasant for her if our connection's been active this entire time, and she deserves – more than anyone – to know the truth of it. Of what I am.

So I sigh and break our staring contest and give in. I tell her.

Slow at first. Halting and hesitant. It's strange to tell the story now that the Beast has disappeared from my heart. Strange to try to describe what I was feeling, what frame of mind I was in when I did the things I did. Though I can see curiosity and a general sense of being unsatisfied with the amount of detail I'm giving her at certain parts of the story, Zelda doesn't interrupt me. She fills in what gaps she can on her own, and she'll grill me on the rest of it later, and that's fine. She waits until I'm done, and then she takes a moment to process the entirety of it.

At last she offers me a wry smile. "Why do you always do all the exciting stuff when I'm indisposed?"

I laugh despite myself. "I don't know if exciting is the word I'd use."

"It's better than what I've been doing," she says with a roll of her eyes. "Took me a while to fight my way awake after I got sent here. I can't see anything out of my own eyes, they're closed and I can't open them, but if I can find a foothold and get into someone else's head I can see through theirs."

I press a hand to my heart and fake outrage. "Zelda!" I gasp. "Have you been cheating on me with other people's brains?"

"I have been obscenely promiscuous," she replies with a straight face. Then puts a finger to her chin and looks thoughtful. "Or would have been if I could have found more than one brain to cheat on you with. Unfortunately, the few people we've come across were in similar straits to you. Their minds were tumultuous messes and I couldn't find a foothold."

"We've?" I ask her.

"We've," she confirms. "I believe I'm currently being worn in a ring, on the finger of an angel. Like the others you've described."

I blink. "Wait, like the God one, or like Nobernal? Because that's two very different angels."

"Neither," she says. "The other one. The first one."

"Anduriel?" I demand, incredulous. "Impossible. She's the only one that wasn't corrupted by Ganon's influence."

"I know, but still, the comparison stands," she says. She frowns thoughtfully. "I'm not going to say they're identical. And this one is definitely working for Ganon, she's said as much to me several times. I just…I've been in her head, Link. She's not like the other two you mentioned. She's…she's just different."

"It's probably a trick," I say darkly. "Don't let her pull you in, Zelda."

She waves me off without acknowledging my warning. "I'm not exactly sure where we are right now," she says. "Near a river and a road. But we're hard to miss. She rides around on a three-headed turtle. She talks to it. Calls it Trinexx."

"That's not much to go off of," I say with a frown.

"A three-headed turtle's not a lot to go off of?" she demands, raising an eyebrow.

"Did you _hear_ the story I just told you?" I reply incredulously. "Do you have any idea how _normal_ that sounds compared to half of it?"

"All right, all right," she says. "Fair enough. I'll keep my eyes open for actual landmarks and let you know as soon as I see something memorable. In the meantime, you three should keep going after the others that are actually marked on the map."

"Any idea how to get them home?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Sorry, no. The seals are pretty tight. Only way in or out is those portals, and they won't work once you've rescued the maiden." She frowns thoughtfully, setting her chin in the palm of her hand. "It's a problem though. The Sages can't lift those seals without guaranteeing Hyrule's destruction. The only thing we have going for us right now is that the Moblins are forced to be herded through the portals." Her expression is dark. "Push come to shove we may need to take the fight to Ganon himself."

I lean forward and kiss her forehead with a grin. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Her lips twist in a sarcastic smirk and she's about to reply, but she blinks instead and points at my face. "Oh!" she says. "Your cut's healing!"

I raise a hand to my face, but the cut's already gone. And shortly thereafter, most of the other aches and pains that have been dragging me down fade away. "Aw, crap," I say, getting to my feet. "They must have fed me a healing potion. They probably think I'm dying of internal bleeding or something." I turn apologetically to her. "I've gotta get back before they decide it's Hunter's fault."

"Hey, no worries," she says, getting to her feet as well. "I'll be here when you need me." She shrugs. "It's not like I've got anything else to do right now."

"Sure you do," I say with a grin. "Put that big brain of yours to work and figure us a way out of here." I pull her close and kiss her goodbye, pausing for a moment with my forehead against hers. "And thanks," I add. "For listening."

She grins up at me. "One of us has to," she says. And she lets go of the connection before I can respond.

The Temple of Time fades away and within seconds is replaced by the sloped ceiling of the tent in Misery Mire.

"He's waking up!"

"Link?"

_Link?_

I push myself up into a seated position, waiting for my disorientation to pass. "Sorry," I say. "Not dying. Zelda."

_Link, I can still sense you._

"Zelda?" Hunter and Neesha gasp. "She contacted you?" Hunter adds. "How? Where is she? Did she get free?"

I wave them off, distracted by the mental sound of Zelda's voice. _Link can you hear me?_

"Zelda?" I say.

"That's who we're talking about, isn't it?" Neesha demands, and I hiss at her to shut up.

"Zelda, are you there?"

_Yes! Link, I'm still connected._

"How?" I demand. "This has never happened before. How can I still hear you?"

"Oh good," says Apheri, appearing remarkably close to panic, "the bleeding must have been in his brain. He's going to die."

"Link, what's going on?" Hunter demands. "Are you talking to Zelda right now? Why aren't you unconscious?"

"I don't know," I snap, "shut up, I'm trying to figure that out."

"He's not dying," Neesha tells Apheri. "And he's not crazy. And he's not haemorrhaging. It's just his stupid Princess interrupting everything as usual."

_Tell her I heard that,_ Zelda says, a frown clear in her voice.

"She heard that," I tell Neesha, who straightens and blinks. "Wait, you heard that? Can you hear everything? Can you see any of it?"

_Yes,_ she says. _I think so. From your perspective._

"How?" I demand. "We've never been able to do this before. Hunter's right, why aren't I unconscious?"

_I…don't know,_ she says. _Technically I've never been able to speak to others telepathically either, but I can speak to my captor just fine. Maybe it's just a side effect of where we are. It's another way my powers, or our link, or both are augmented. Maybe it's because we both have Triforce pieces, or because you're the Hero and I'm the Seventh Sage. I don't know, Link._

I turn to Hunter and shrug at him. "She doesn't know how," I say. "But she's there. She can see everything I can see apparently."

"And she can talk to you?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"That's really invasive," Neesha notes.

"Kind of," I agree awkwardly.

_Sorry,_ Zelda says, equally awkward. _I don't know how to shut it off._

"Shut up," Hunter says, "this is potentially useful. Is she free?"

"No," I say, holding out a hand for Apheri to help me up. "She's still stuck, but I guess being in the Sacred Realm or Dark World or whatever augments her telepathy."

"Why didn't she contact you before?" Neesha demands.

"She couldn't," I say. "Not while the Beast was in here." I rap on my chest.

"Who is Zelda?" Apheri demands, completely out of her depth as far as this conversation goes. "One of the maidens you mentioned?"

"Yes," Hunter confirms. "Also Crown Princess of Hyrule, also the Seventh Sage, also Bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom, also a Person of Some Importance to Your King."

"Some importance, eh?" she says, shooting me a sideways glance. "Hylian, I'm guessing?"

_Here we go,_ Zelda sighs.

"Don't," I say, pointing accusingly at her. "Don't start. I get enough of that back home, I don't need it here."

She raises her hands in a defensive gesture and I scowl fiercely at her.

"Could we focus?" Hunter asks. "Just for like…two seconds. Can she tell us where she is?"

"She's doesn't know. Another Sentinel has her – wearing her crystal as a ring, riding around on a three-headed turtle named Trinexx."

"Revanas," says Apheri, blinking in surprise.

"Say again?" I ask, turning back to her.

"The avatar you just described," Apheri clarifies. "I've heard stories. Her name is Revanas. She wanders the Dark World on the back of a giant, three-headed turtle."

"I know that name," says Hunter. "It's one of the few we remember in our stories. She's supposed to be the eldest of the sentinels. She's an oracle of some kind. Though…she was male in our stories."

"Everyone is male in your stories," Neesha says, making a face.

"Well everyone is female in yours," he retorts.

"Yeah but we have a reason for that!"

"The Sentinels don't really have a gender," I remind them both.

"Does she actually know the future?" Neesha demanded. "Because we're in some trouble if she does."

"How can she?" Hunter demands. "The future's mutable, or so I thought."

"Mutable isn't unknowable," I point out. "Zelda's visions are almost always about the future. Some of them come true, some don't, but what she sees is always a possibility that needs to be considered. It's something that _could_ come true."

_Nicely said, Link,_ Zelda notes, amused. _It's good to know you_ do _occasionally listen to me._

"I try," I say with mock humility.

Neesha gives me a dull look. "Could you…answer her in your head, or something? It's going to get really annoying trying to figure out if you're talking to her or to us."

"I don't know," I say, then add mentally, _can I?_

_If you tried it there, I didn't hear it,_ Zelda says. _Don't just_ think _it, think it_ at _me._

I make a face and try again. _I am thinking_ at _you. At you. Aaaattt yyyoooouuuu._

_Caught the tail end of that. Have no idea what you were trying to say, but I caught it. You're going to need to practice._

"Great," I mutter. "Yes, apparently I can answer her internally, but I suck at it."

"Is that my problem, or yours?" Neesha demands.

"I can _make_ it yours," I offer with a threatening smile.

"Guys, I'm begging you," Hunter says, "focus. So we still don't know where she is, but she can communicate with us which is useful. We have her map – finally – and we can find the other Maidens in the meantime. Link, before you passed out you were saying something about the Moon Pearl and Sahasrahla. Finish the thought."

"Ummm, just that he used to have one, but he said he lost it. Said it worked with my mirror."

The three of us exchange a glance, and I shove my hand into the pouch to find the Mirror. Hunter passes me the Moon Pearl, and I hold it up against the indent in the top of it where Sahasrahla's Pearl used to sit. "What are the odds that this is the right one?" I ask.

"It's the right size," Neesha points out.

"And if it's associated with the Sacred Realm – which if it's from that mirror it would be – Agahnim would have been interested in it," Hunter adds. "Would make sense that he had it."

"You said it was incredibly rare," Apheri notes. "How many are there?"

"A handful," Hunter answers. "Maybe less. It's not unreasonable that this is Sahasrahla's. It's gotta be what's pushing the Dark World back. Why the Beast is gone. It's the only thing we've got that would explain it. And if the Pearl alone can do that, combined with the Mirror…"

_Did Sahasrahla say what it would do when it was in the Mirror?_ Zelda asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head, then blink when the others stare blankly at me. "Sorry – Zelda asked whether I know what it does in the mirror. He just said the mirror used to have other powers but he didn't go into it. Oh!" I cut myself off abruptly, startling them. "But Anduriel did! She said it used to let you travel back and forth between the Dark World and regular old Hyrule."

All eyes turn to the pearl in my hand, considering the implications of that possibility. Neesha's eyes light up with hope, but the rest of us are slower, more cautious. We've been here too long to let hope run free now.

Zelda is the first to brave a comment. _Link, that could be your ticket to getting the maidens home._

"Do it," says Neesha, but Hunter shakes his head.

"We don't know if we'll be able to get back," he points out. "There are still four Maidens left. What if we leave and they're stuck here?"

_He's right._

"Rue and the Sages can figure out how to get us back," Neesha says. "We know _we_ can get past the Seals. And if the Mirror can get us out, I bet it can get us back."

_She's…probably right, but that's a big risk. I—Link, watch out!_

Neesha has taken advantage of my hesitation to lean across and grab the hand holding the pearl over the indent. She drives it down, popping the brilliant jewel into the convenient gap in the Mirror and flattening my hand onto the glass.

"Neesha!" I cry, but something shifts in the reflection of the mirror, and then something shifts in the world around me. The cold greenish-grey of the mire blurs violently, begins to shift to something more yellow, and my stomach lurches as I get the distinct impression that I'm falling from a very high place, through some kind of hole in the world.

I close my eyes to keep from being sick and hear four distant, panicked shouts of "Link!" – three of them verbal, one of them mental.

But before I can answer I land, hard, on something dry, loose and gritty. I open my eyes slowly, shielding them from the sudden, invasively bright light, and it takes me a moment to focus. When I do my mind reels and all I manage to accomplish is staring around like a stunned fool, unable to comprehend what I'm seeing. I lurch to my feet and spin in a circle, closing my eyes and jamming the heels of my hands into them once, and then again, more violently. My brain refuses to accept the sea of yellow sand around me, or the all-too familiar heat of the air, already drying out my mud-caked clothes. I press a hand to my chest, afraid I'm about to have a heart attack.

There's a sound like lightning that causes me to jump out of my skin and Hunter and Neesha suddenly fall out of mid air to land with grunts on the ground beside me.

"What…the _Hell_?" Neesha snarls. "Hunter, you ass!"

"You're going to shove one powerful artifact of unknown purpose into another without thinking through the consequences, I can shove you through a mysterious portal that goes I don't know where without thinking of them either!" he snarls back. But Neesha doesn't respond. She's just clued in to the shift in scenery and her large eyes are wide with shock. Hunter's expression mirrors hers in short order.

"Guys," I manage hoarsely, turning to them and sinking back to my knees in the sand as I acknowledge the only possible explanation. "We're home…"


	26. Inexplicably Sobbing Children

#  **Chapter 25 and Interludes**

##  **A Brief Interlude**

He found her seated atop a high point on the bluff overlooking Laky Hylia. She sat on the edge of the rocky face as she once sat on her father's perch as a girl; palms set flat on the ground at her sides, legs dangling over the edge, unafraid of the fall. Perfectly content in the knowledge that the water would catch her if she leapt, would cradle her as her mother once had, as she had cradled their daughter.

He hesitated in the space behind her, unsure of whether the intrusion would be welcome, but she stirred from her thoughts and glanced at him over her shoulder. "Acqul," she said, "no need to lurk. I could use the company."

"You'll catch your death up here," he noted, concerned. But he moved to her side and joined her on the edge.

"The cold doesn't bother me," she said, and settled against him. "A small gift in exchange for the larger burden of being a Sage I suppose."

He said nothing, turning his eyes out in the direction hers were facing. The Lake extended beneath them like a glacial mirror. Were it not for the dusting of snow blowing across its icy surface it would have seemed the sky were below. From this high up you couldn't see the dark creatures beneath its surface. You could almost pretend the waters were as serene and pure as they were meant to be. A shadow crossed Ruto's face.

"I could freeze the whole thing," she said. "With a thought." She gestured over the ice as though she was doing just that. "But in doing so I would cut off Hyrule's main water supply, and I don't imagine it would kill the blasted things anyway."

"Ruto!" Acqul said, startled by the uncharacteristically harsh language.

"We are in private," she said, a trace of a sulk in her voice. "And I am in a mood. I will speak how I wish."

He furrowed his smooth brow, but didn't argue.

"I could command the water to hurl them against the rocks and the walls of the basin, crush them into paste from the sheer pressure. But along with them, all the other creatures that call the lake home. An entire ecosystem destroyed, the Lake damaged beyond repair, and the waters left empty and unable to support life."

"Ruto," he said gently, "the battle goes well. The beasts are trapped within the Lake and can't get beyond. Our nets drag scores of them to the surface to die in the air every day, without a single casualty on our side. They don't appear to be growing in number, so we must be making a dent. We are winning."

"Then why do I feel like we are losing?" she demanded, turning to face him. "Perhaps we are doing well here, but the others are struggling, and there are less of us every time I travel to the Sacred Realm to report. And as well as we _are_ doing, those abominations are still in the Lake, and they have not ceased their attacks no matter how many of their number we kill! Those waters are like an extension of myself and I cannot find a way to be rid of their presence for once and for all! I am a Sage and yet I may as well be helpless! I can't destroy those monsters, I can't bring our daughter home, I can't defend the other Sages from those that seek to fell them! This battle goes well, but we are losing the war, Acqul!" She turned her face away before she could ruin her composure further by breaking down completely.

He stared at her for a long moment, shocked and concerned and just a little alarmed. He reached out and gently cupped her cheek in his hand to turn her face back to him. "Love," he said softly, "those monsters will die. Link will bring Laruto back to us. And you and the other Sages will find a way to stand against your enemies as you always have." He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. "We have lost nothing yet."

"I am afraid of a thing I cannot name," she said, her voice shaky. "I feel a dread like I have never felt before, and I don't know where it's coming from. If Zelda were here, I would ask her, but she isn't and I can't."

"Have faith," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.

She didn't reply, but curled up against him once more and turned her eyes back out over the frozen lake. Acqul pretended to do the same, but kept his eyes on his wife, unsettled by the entire conversation, and the persistent trepidation in her eyes.

For a long time they sat as they were, lost in their own thoughts, until Ruto straightened abruptly, startling Acqul from his reverie. Her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened in surprise.

"Nayru!" she swore, startling him further. "Link!"

***

"All I'm saying is how do we know the Hylians _aren't_ behind this?" demanded Nidiza. "They launched an attack on our fort through magic before. If the Moblins have picked up mages somewhere, Castletown's the most obvious source!"

Amplissa stared at her for a long moment, trying to forget how pristine the younger woman's new uniform was. How straight and crisp the new hair cut. How _not Aliza_ she was, no matter who said that's who she was replacing. She struggled not to hate the woman based entirely on how new she was. "All _I'm_ saying," she finally responded, failing at all of that, "is that you're an idiot."

"Based on what?!" Nidiza demanded.

"Based on the fact that since when have Hylians worked with Moblins?!" Amplissa responded acidly. "In case you've forgotten your history lessons, _that was us_. They hate the Moblins as much as they hate us. They wouldn't work with them."

"Where _else_ would they have gotten mages?"

"You know, we have those too, right?" Amplissa replied, giving the woman a dull look. "As do the Sheikah? There's one here, _right now_ , training. Or…being horribly abused or something. Look, I don't know why he's here, but it doesn't matter. The point is, it's not the Hylians. That's a stupid thing to say and a misdirection anyway."

Nidiza's face darkened. "Say what you mean," she snapped.

Amplissa leaned forward on the table and showed the younger woman all of her teeth. "I _mean_ , little girl, that you are like all the other hot-headed, over-reckless, angry women out there and you just want an excuse to go tearing into Castletown and take out the loss of our King and the wound on our pride on them. But here's the truth of the matter – the King got himself captured of his own accord and the man that did it wasn't any more Hylian than we are. And the wound on our pride is our own damn fault. It wasn't the Hylians that let the Moblins breach the walls. That's on us. And no matter how many Hylians you kill you won't change that."

"Not that I disagree with your interpretation of the kid's argument," noted Indiga with an impressively neutral tone, "but weren't _you_ the one screaming as recently as last week that we should be tearing in there and mounting their heads on spikes?"

"For one, I wasn't making up pretend reasons for doing it," Amplissa replied with a dark frown, "and for two, that was _before_ our walls were breached and the Moblins inexplicably sprouted magic powers." She threw a slow look around the table at the gathered Elite. "We have other priorities right now, sisters. We don't have the luxury of avenging a lost King who would kill us for even making the attempt if he ever found out." As had been the case since Link had gone missing, half the table nodded along with her and the other half scowled.

"Enough!" Nabooru snapped. "We're not invading Castletown."

"But—!" started Nidiza.

"I said _enough_!" Nabooru snarled, slamming her hand down on the table. She pointed at the newest member of the Elite and frowned. "You've earned that uniform and your place among us, Nidiza, but you still need to prove yourself to keep it. Don't cause me to question my decision."

The younger woman scowled, but sat back down and fell silent.

"Look," said Nabooru, addressing the entire room once more, "can we focus on one war at a time here? Some of you are newer and don't know the King as well as the rest of us. Trust me when I say that if he were here, his _explicit_ orders would be to not attack Castletown."

"But he's _not_ here," noted Indiga, still carefully neutral. "And he left no explicit orders."

Nabooru gave her a look that immediately forced her eyes away. "You want revenge, take it out on the Moblins," she said, her voice hard. "We need every woman we've got right now holding that gate together and keeping those monsters _out_ of our Fortress. And _out_ of Hyrule."

"Or," said Nidiza tentatively, "we could funnel them _into_ Hyrule…keep the Fortress clear, but just let the Moblins run right on past…."

"Right," said Amplissa dryly, "just dump our problem on them to solve. How very… _Hylian_ of you."

"We are not dumping anything on anyone," Nabooru snarled, getting to her feet before they could continue fighting. "These Moblins are _our_ problem. We have sworn to keep them out of Hyrule and we will _keep our word_." Her eyes were fierce, her expression livid. "If anyone here is more interested in petty feuds with each other, or our allies, than in defending this Fortress and everything else from the Moblin blight, she can pack her bags and leave." She stared around the room until every last woman in it had finally turned her eyes away. "I don't want to hear another breath wasted on talk of a war with the Hylians while there are Moblins beating in our gates, do you hear me? And I expect every last one of you to quash it anytime you hear the others speaking of it, no matter your personal preference. We will deal with the Hylians—Farore!" She straightened, the rage on her face replaced with an expression of the utmost shock. Her face went pale, and then red, and then pale again. Her mouth moved like she was tasting something on the wind.

"Nabooru?" Amplissa inquired cautiously. "What is it? Another attack?" The gathered Elite tensed.

"I don't—it can't—if this is a trick…." Her face darkened, but there was a wavering belief in the expression. So many maybes…too many maybes…

The Sage of Spirit ignored the questioning looks of the Elite and closed her eyes. She opened herself to the desert around her, and the spirits that dwelled there. She threw her senses wide, past the bruised pride and simmering rage of her sisters, past the vile stain that was the Moblin presence in the desert. Into the Spirit Wastes themselves. What seemed dead and deserted on the surface was in fact full of life – both here and gone – and it was here that Nabooru turned her attention.

The spirits for whom the Wastes were named welcomed her, excited apparently beyond endurance. They danced and jabbered, but not with anger, as they had when the Moblins invaded. Not with hate. With hope. With love. With unrestrained joy. They were welcoming someone home.

And there was only one for whom they would put up such a fuss.

She opened her eyes with a grin as feral as a wild dog's and nearly threw herself at the map pinned to the wall behind her. "Here," she said, jabbing her finger against the worn leather. "He's here."

"He?!" Nidiza gasped, "You mean—!"

"Nabooru, the Moblins," Amplissa said, coming to her feet. "He doesn't know, he'll charge right into their camp."

"Go," the Sage snapped, turning to one of the reds standing guard at the door. "Sound the King's Warning. And don't stop until your arm falls off. Amplissa," she whirled around to face the Elite again. "He'll head for the forest. I'll meet him there and bring him back, but we'll need an escort from the Spirit Temple."

"On it," she said, and pointed at half the table. "You lot, with me. Mount up."

"The rest of you," Nabooru said, "spread the word – the Son of the Wind has returned!"

***

"Moblins! Moblins! They're Moblins!"

The cry was practically a war chant, echoed up and down and the stony hallways of the Sheikah Caverns. Each person who heard it began to scoff, paused, and then picked it up in horror as the truth was finally allowed to register. Many of the townsfolk, unaccustomed to the confined space and dim light, began to panic, adding to the chaos as they ignored the instructions they'd been given and began to dart around looking for loved ones or protection. The Moblins – their secret undone – took advantage of the frantic activity to attack and slip away again amongst the confusion. The few Sheikah left who were not guarding the mountain passes swore and screamed and swore some more as they tried to somehow get control of the rapidly escalating situation, and the Gorons were at a loss as to how to help them in caverns and caves that were narrow compared to what they were used to, and filled with far too many civilians to risk their most effective combat strategies.

Through this melee ran two little boys, a different kind of cry on their lips.

"Marni!" Cota called, desperately scanning the faces of the adults as they raced by him in every direction. "Marni, where are you?!"

"Hey!" Mido yelled. "Hey! We need to find someone! HEY!" He pushed his way across the corridor, dodging legs and knees on the way, toward a figure who was standing relatively still in the middle of the mass. "Hey!" he yelled, pulling on the figure's cape. "I'm looking for—!" but his request ended in a startled cry when the figure turned around and stared down at him from under its cowl with hungry, porcine eyes. "Moblin!" he shrieked. The Moblin grunted a laugh and swung viciously at him with the blade it had been hiding under his cape, but Mido threw himself flat on the ground. "Moblin!" The whistle of the sword through the air made his stomach twist unpleasantly, but then he was up on his hands and knees and crawling away.

One of the adults shrieked and pointed, and a great cry rose from the crowd as they stampeded out either end of the corridor. Mido gasped as a stray foot caught him in the side and he sprawled onto the cold stone floor. Terrified of the hurricane of feet he covered his head with his hands and closed his eyes tightly.

"Mido!" Cota crossed the distance between them as fast as he could and threw himself at a large man about to trample the frightened Kokiri. He managed enough force to knock the adult off his original trajectory and send him stumbling away on another angle. He didn't bother to see if he fell, didn't waste time looking for the Moblin. He just turned and dragged Mido to his feet, and then they were running again.

"Those people—!" Mido gasped, twisting to look back behind them at the broken, bloodied forms lying still on the floor of the rapidly emptying room.

But Cota shoved him forward. "They're dead. We can't help them."

"How do you—?"

"I just do, all right?" There was something haunted in the young boy's eyes, a whisper of whatever it was that hummed on the edges of Link's sword and lived in the people in the sewers. Mido's mouth went dry. "I know what somebody who's dead looks like."

Mido swallowed thickly and turned his eyes forward.

The bulk of the crowd seemed to have dispersed from around them once again, and they finally allowed themselves to slow to a stop. They leaned against the wall, or on their knees and panted. "Stupid girl," Cota hissed. "Where did she go?" He threw a glance back down the hallway and Mido knew he was thinking of the lifeless bodies on the ground.

"We'll find her," he said, and did his best to sound confident. "Maybe she went back to the room to look for—?"

But Cota's face went pale at something he could see beyond the curve of the wall and he grabbed Mido and slapped a hand over his mouth. Mido stared at him in surprise, but Cota gestured for him to stay quiet and desperately pulled them back into the shadows of the wall. Mido didn't bother struggling. The next instant he could see what had caused Cota's sudden fear. A group of Moblins walked pass the wide intersection ahead, muttering at each other in their harsh language. Over their shoulders, some of them carried bundles that a small pool of torchlight revealed to be people. The boys held their breath and tried to make themselves as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Just when they thought they were safe the small caravan stopped in place and the Moblin at the back grabbed the head of the woman over the shoulder of the Moblin in front of it. It lifted her head by the hair to force her to look at it, and Mido thought he recognized her as the woman who had spoken with Darunia after the Sage had rescued him in the village above. She was the General Dune.

"Which way?" it snarled at her.

She ground her teeth and glared at it without answering. The Moblin snorted and barked something at one of the others past the corner where the boys couldn't see. It gestured roughly, pushing its cape back over its shoulder and both boys winced as a bright light shone suddenly down their corridor. Mido blinked into the light, starting when he saw what was causing it. There was a bottle tied to the Moblins belt, glowing like it had a star in it. But there was something else, like a swirl of ink writhing in the centre of it. Mido squinted, trying to make it out better. Something about it made him sad, made him want to take the bottle and smash it. The ink shouldn't be in there. It was in pain. It wanted out.

But then the Moblin hastily pulled its cape back down over the bottle. Any further concern for the thing at its centre was lost when a sharp, high-pitched cry sang out and echoed against the cavern walls. Cota gasped and it was suddenly Mido's turn to twist in his grip and slap his own hand over the other boy's mouth to keep him from calling out to his sister.

The Moblins had Marni, and they were hurting her.

"Left!" Dune snarled, and immediately Marni's scream ended in a gasp, followed by terrified sniffling. "The Quisros is on your next left."

The Moblin put its face very close to hers and showed her its filth stained teeth. "Sage of Fire be there, yes?" it hissed, eyes narrowed. "Or more than twisting we do to your friends."

"Just take your next left," Dune spat.

The Moblin snorted again and the group moved on.

The boys slowly untangled themselves from each other. They met each other's eyes in the dark hallway, each drawing courage from the other. Then they turned without a word and crept quietly after the Moblins.

***

##  **Chapter 25**

"Home," Hunter says, his voice so reverent it's practically a prayer. "I can't believe it."

I turn to reply to him, but the next instant the sound of the signal bell at the Fortress begins to ring. It's not loud this far out, but you can make out the pattern and Neesha and I both instinctively turn toward it, translating the message.

"Dammit," she says, stiffening.

"What is it?" Hunter asks. "Are they under attack?"

"No, we are," I tell him. I scramble to my feet and move closer to them, fumbling in my pouch for the Ocarina. "Nabooru must know we're here – that particular ring is always for me, and it's always a warning. It's not safe to go home right now."

Neesha's face is grim. "Judging by how hard they're ringing it, I don't think it's safe where we are."

But I've got the Ocarina out. "Hold tight," I say, and they both set their hands on my back. A few familiar notes and the sand, sun and sky disappear in a swirl of green light, replaced moments later with grass, trees, and vine-covered walls.

And, inexplicably, sobbing children.

"Link!" shrieks one of the know-it-all brothers. He throws himself at my leg with a wail and I stagger backward from the force of it. Hunter and Neesha look around them in surprise.

"What?!" I demand. "What is it?!" I pry his arms free of my leg and drop down into a crouch to look him in his red-rimmed eyes. "What's happened?"

"Mido's gone!" cries Fado, rushing over, at least three other distraught Kokiri behind her.

"What do you mean gone?" I ask. Something tells me this isn't hide and seek.

"He's gone!" Fado says desperately. "He's left! The Great Deku Tree sent him on a secret mission and he hasn't come back yet!"

The last ten minutes of my life have been just a little extremely hectic. Too many abrupt transitions in too short a time. So it is an effort to try to focus my attention on what they're saying and the implications of it. "I'm sure he's fine," I say. "Probably got distracted and wandered through a Lost Door. He'll be—"

"No!" cries the Know-It-All Brother. "He left the _Forest_. He's _gone_!"

_That_ gets my attention. "He can't leave the Forest," I say. "You guys can't leave the Forest."

"Link?! Is that Link?!" The voice is small, high pitched, and muffled strangely. Fado blinks and reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small bottle, with holes popped in the lid. Inside flutters a tiny fairy surrounded by a bright nimbus of green light. "Link!" she cries, pressing her hands up against the glass. "It's true! He left the Forest on an mission for the Great Deku Tree! He should have been back by now, Link!" Her face crumples inward and she starts to cry.

"Let her out of there," I chide Fado. "Why have you got her locked up?!"

"She kept trying to leave," Fado says, shuffling her feet but holding my gaze stubbornly. "We didn't want to lose them both!"

"Give her here," I say, holding out my hand. "Savi, just, calm down, all right? We'll go talk to the Great Deku Tree." I pop the lid off and she flies out gratefully, wiping at her tear-stained face. She flutters anxiously around my head. "The rest of you settle down. Okay? You're going to make yourselves sick."

"He's my partner," Savi sniffles. "He shouldn't have gone without me!"

"You'll find him, won't you Link?" Fado asks, wringing her hands.

"First Saria, now Mido!" wails the Know-It-All Brother. "We're cursed!"

"No! Stop it!" I hiss. "You're not cursed, all right?! Just…relax. I'll figure this out."

"I hope by 'this' you mean getting your ass back to the desert," says a dull voice behind me. "We've got bigger—."

But she's cut off as the Kokiri all shriek, startled by the unexpected intruder, and immediate explode into action, racing off in all directions, leaping behind logs and disappearing into the woods in about the time it takes Nabooru to blink in surprise. She stares around her and frowns. "They're not normally here," she says. "Or crying. What did you do?"

"Nothing," I say, "I walked into it to. It's okay, Savi, she's a friend."

Savi flies out from beneath my hat, looking embarrassed. "Sorry," she mumbles, "I know her, I just…wasn't expecting her. I've had a long few weeks."

Few weeks. If Mido _did_ leave the Forest…

"Look," I tell Nabooru, "you may as well come with us to see the Great Deku Tree, I'm not leaving without talking to him, and it's going to take time for whatever escort you've arranged to make it to the Spirit Temple anyway. It's not like there's anything we could accomplish sitting out there that we couldn't do here."

She looks annoyed, unable to comprehend how the problems of the Kokiri could even come close to the problems of the Gerudo, but ultimately shrugs because I'm right and I think she knows there are bigger fights coming up she'd best save her energy for.

"Where the Hell have you been?" she demands. "And _you_!" She leans around me to point at Neesha as we walk. The latter attempts to meet her gaze defiantly, but there is something guilty in there that mars the whole effort. Nabooru says nothing else, just draws her finger across her throat.

Ah the simplicity of Gerudo communications.

"Dark World," I tell her, drawing her ire away from Neesha. "Which sucks. And I don't really

feel like talking about it or reliving any of the details thankyouverymuch. Suffice it to say that the portals at

Lake Hylia, Kakariko, and the Desert are closed. Working on the others. All the Maidens are alive.

Laruto is with a friend until I can find a way back in there to go get her. Zelda's still captured, but just

before we got booted back home she managed to make a telepathic link with me. Don't know if it'll still be

there when I get back, though. Oh!" I say as we walk into a huge hollowed log marking the path from

Saria's special place, "and the Moblins have mages. I don't mean, like, one, either. I mean like an army of

them. Your turn. Go."

She takes a half second to process all of that. "Moblins breached the walls, but we turned them

back and none got through to Hyrule. They broke Sahasrahla's shield, and now I guess I know how.

Expected mage, not mages, but we'll adapt. Zora's holding well. Impa's down in Kakariko – no one

knows how or why. Darunia found her deep in the mountain unconscious and nothing's waking her up."

"Did you go?" I ask in surprise.

"Couldn't," she replies. "Moblins breached our gate, remember? Other priorities. Something is

up at Kakariko, but we don't know what yet. Darunia's on it. Castletown's been incommunicado since

Impa went down – none of us are willing to risk your father's rebellion by checking in on him. Impa was

managing it, so naturally we don't know anything except that Durnam made a play for the throne and

there's an ongoing civil war of sorts.

"I'll take the news that the portals are down back to the Sages at our next tête-à-tête in the Sacred

Realm. That'll help. Maybe we can push the bastards out and reallocate some strength. Oh!" she says as

we exit the log and emerge in the Deku Tree's glen, "and I need a direct order from you not to invade

Castletown and slaughter all the Hylians."

"Consider it yours," I say.

"That was the fastest debriefing I've ever seen," Hunter says with a frown that makes it clear he

doesn't know whether to nod approvingly or shake his head in disappointment.

"Great Deku Tree!" Savi cries, flying from my shoulder. "Link is here!

"Link," says the Great Deku Tree Sprout as we come out the other end of the tunnel in his glade. He is more relieved than I think I have ever seen him. "I am glad to see thee well, Hero. And thy companions as well. Things have been growing darker in Hyrule in thine absence."

I duck my head apologetically and come to a stop in front of him. "I'm sorry, Great Deku Tree," I say, "but they may need to stay dark for a bit yet. I can't stay."

It hurts me – physically – to say it. Like I just punched myself in the gut. Hunter actually gives a tiny gasp behind me, equally pained, but he doesn't argue.

"What?!" Nabooru snaps. "You'd best be talking about these Woods, _highness_."

"Later," I snap back at her, then turn to the Deku Tree again. "Listen, I'm sorry I have to be so abrupt, but I've been gone too long and I suspect there's a lot I need to do. When I teleported here, the Kokiri were freaking out. Something about Mido being gone."

"Please, Great Deku Tree," Savi says, lip trembling. "It's been weeks."

The Deku Tree Sprout's branches creak in a troubled way. "Yes," he says. "I sent him to thy father, or the sages or the generals with a message. There is a portal here, in the Woods. Worry not for the Kokiri! The Moblins it spawned are lost within the depths of the Woods and will not find their way out again. But these Moblins are not what we expected. They are smaller, more intelligent than their brutish cousins. They wield foul magic. And if they are here, they are elsewhere. Mido was sent to warn the rest of Hyrule."

"You're a tree," Nabooru says, clearly struggling to keep her temper under control, "and you knew they had mages. But not one of my women figured it out. They're Gerudo. And _you're a tree_."

"Magic does not work in the Woods as it does elsewhere," the Deku Tree says kindly. "Their cloaks and tricks do not blind me or my children, as they would thy kin."

"Is he…," I hesitate, glancing at Savi out of the corner of my eye. But it's nothing the little fairy hasn't been obsessing over since Mido left, I'm sure, so no point dropping the question. "How long can the Kokiri live outside the wood?"

"It is a complicated question," answers the Deku Tree grimly, "because none has ever left, save yourself. And you were a special case."

Even now, a decade later, the fact that he counts me among the Kokiri means more than I can say.

"Here," he continues, "they are protected from mortality. Time does not touch them. Death does not touch them. There are no shields out there, beyond the Woods. No protection. Mido is exposed, and Death can find him and I cannot stop it. He has until then – until Death finds him. How long that might take, I do not know." Savi's resolve crumples and she starts to cry.

"I'll bring him home," I promise her. "Where did you send him?"

"He left armed with names and descriptions," said the Deku Tree, "and directions to Castletown."

Nabooru hisses, and I wince. She glances at the crying fairy, then back at me with a questioning expression. I shrug and she shrugs back. "Castletown's in the middle of a Civil War," she tells them. "We don't know the status. I'm not saying the squirt wouldn't have made it there, I'm just saying it may not be safe to go looking. Not without risking the Sheikah's efforts."

"Did he have a coat?" Hunter asks.

"The best we could give him," the Deku Tree responds heavily. "And the Lost Door would have brought him close. But nothing thick enough if he was locked outside the city walls for too long."

"You said Impa knows the status?" I ask her, mind racing.

"I also said she's out of commission," Nabooru reminds me. "Comatose."

"Then I guess it's a good thing I've got a magical Ocarina that plays magical songs that can magically fix all kinds of magical maladies," I respond impatiently.

She raises an offended eyebrow at me. "Kid, who do you take me for? There's nothing your little _pipe_ can do for her that I can't. Sage of Spirit, remember? Don't you think I tried?"

"Then it's not a spiritual thing," I answer her flatly, "and I use one of my many _other_ magical pieces of crap to solve the issue. The way my life is going lately, I'm guessing it'll have to be the sword, but who knows."

"I'm pretty sure I mentioned the army of Moblins – apparently including mages – tearing the desert apart, no? We blew up half the fortress to keep them out, you know. You don't think that's a bit more important than a single little boy who probably froze to death three feet from his home?" She has the grace to wince, and bow her head apologetically to the tree and the fairy. "Not that I'm saying he has. I'm just trying to focus on priorities here."

I snort. "Portal's closed," I tell her. "They're not getting any reinforcements anymore. You know about the mages, and last I checked you had at least two of your own. I assume they're not dead, or you'd have told me already." I glare at her, eyes fierce and no doubt showing something of the canine Gerudo I have been spending too much time with. "If the Moblins breached the gates, that's on you. All of you. And I tell you what. I'm not coming home until you _unbreach_ them."

She glares at me, infuriated and offended, and I glare back, unbending.

"Our forces are significantly diminished," she says harshly. It's meant as a lash.

Before the Dark World maybe that would change my mind. Make no mistake, it hurts. I feel it, like a crimson brand across my heart, but it doesn't get anywhere near my decision. "Then I would assume theirs are too," I say. "If you tell me we lost more than one Gerudo for every five Moblins then I'm not coming home at all."

She snorts. "More like ten Moblins."

"Then wipe them out," I say with a shrug. "I won't set foot in that desert until every last pig's been left for the ravens."

She considers me closely for a long moment, not confused exactly, but not sure either. But she's not offended anymore. She knows I'm right. With the portal closed, and too many massive battles fought too recently, there's no way the Moblins have the numbers they need to withstand a direct attack by the Gerudo – especially not Gerudo with a King who's implied that if they can't wipe out a few monsters maybe they should cut off their ponytails and turn in their uniforms. "Fine," she says, "but when we're done you and I are going to have a long talk about exactly what happened to you on the other side of that portal. You're not normally this much of a hard ass."

"Make sure Sahasrahla's there for it," I tell her. "I need to ask him some questions about his mirror."

"Whatever," she says, and disappears in a swirl of bright light.

"It is really weird watching Gerudo be Gerudo in a Forest," Hunter says once she's gone. "I just want you to know that." Savi apparently seconds the motion, because she's staring at me with eyes as big as dinner plates – and she's not much bigger than a spoon.

"Gerudo are Gerudo everywhere," Neesha says, demonstrating, as usual, a complete and total lack of understanding for everyone else's complete and total lack of understanding of this very simple concept.

I ignore them both. "I'll find Mido," I tell the Deku Tree and Savi. "I promise."

"Thank you, Hero," says the Deku Tree gravely. "I pray it is not too late."

"I want to come," says Savi tremulously.

But I shake my head at her. "I don't think that's a good idea, Savi," I say gently. "I know you want to find him, believe me I know. But it's probably as dangerous for you out there as it is for him. You can't leave either."

"Navi did!" she says stubbornly.

"Navi wasn't a standard fairy," I remind her. "She was born without a Kokiri partner. She had to wait for me. She's not tied as tightly to the Woods as you are. It's not the same thing. I _will_ bring him home. I promise. But you have to trust me."

"Savi," says the Great Deku Tree, "take heart."

At last she bows her head, her hair falling around her face. "Yes, Great Deku Tree," she says.

I nod at him and his leaves rustle in acknowledgement. "I'll be back before you know it," I tell her, and gesture for the others to grab on. I pull the Ocarina from my pouch and begin the Nocturne of Shadow. Normally it would have no place in the Woods, but it's strangely fitting given the mood in the glade.

Savi waves goodbye as the magic sweeps us up and away from the Woods, and drops us on the platform in front of the Shadow Temple. Below us is Kakariko's graveyard. Beyond that is Kakariko itself.

It is with no small amount of bitter resentment toward the Goddesses that I realize it is on fire.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Marni kept her eyes shut and prayed through her tears. It was an old prayer. She could remember her mother saying it, over and over and over again, after her father had fallen ill. "Nayru shield me from the night. Farore deliver me to the dawn. Din deny the dark this soul." She repeated the words through her tears, murmuring them in a never ending stream, until the sound lost all meaning and she was saying them because if she stopped she would have to acknowledge the stench of the monster carrying her, or the sting of the gash in her side, or the fire in her broken arm. She would have to look up and see the wretched, shattered faces around her, or the demons that had taken them. She would have to consider what might have happened to her brother, and the little Kokiri boy, without her there to take care of them when the Moblins had hit.

They were deep in the caverns now. The sounds of the battle had fallen behind, little more than distant echoes. Dune continued to give the Moblins reluctant directions. Marni wanted to tell her not to. Wanted to tell her that they didn't deserve it. That she'd rather die than help the vile creatures. But then she remembered the snap of her own arm, or the sharp edge of their knives, and her mouth went dry and her lungs seized and no matter how badly she wanted to yell and scream and rail she couldn't.

They came at last to a large chamber. At the end of which was a forked corridor.

"There," said Dune. "The _Quisrol_ is to the right. But you have to let me down."

"Think me stupid?" the Moblin demanded with a snort. It grabbed the general by the hair and pulled her hair up roughly. "Me not stupid."

Dune scowled darkly at it. "There's a barrier," she snapped. "Only Blood Sheikah can pass through it. You need to put me down so I can remove the barrier."

It scowled suspiciously at her, then looked up at the Moblin holding Marni. "You," it snapped. "Girl. Go see."

"W-what?" Marni gasped, and cried out when the Moblin roughly set her back on her feet. Her arm screamed with pain and she cradled it against her chest and doubled over.

"For the Goddess' sake, leave her alone. You've plenty of uninjured captives to send."

"No," said the Moblin. "Girl. Go. Now. Or we break other arm."

Marni gave a small gasp and looked at Dune. The Sheikah gave her a sympathetic look through her swollen eye and bloodied face. "It's okay, Marni," she said gently. "It's just an invisible wall. Right at the entrance to the hallway. Walk carefully and you'll find it. It won't hurt you."

She gave a small nod and moved forward uncertainly. When she was close to the hallway she began extending a foot out gingerly in front of her, searching for the barrier. It didn't take her long to find it. She pressed her good shoulder up against it, but it may as well have been stone. Though she could see the hall beyond, she couldn't breach the corridor. It was dark down the hallway, but she could see large shapes, almost like people but larger. Statues, she realized.

"See?" Dune said. "Set me down where she is. I need to mediate to lower the barrier."

The Moblin snorted. "If you lie," it threatened, "break more than her arm, yes? Spine maybe. Skull. No lies."

"You've made your point more than clear," Dune snapped. "Put me down and let me break the barrier."

The Moblin glared at her for a moment more, then nodded at the other holding her. It dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground and she grit her teeth as she pushed herself back up. She took a moment brush herself off haughtily, the expression carefully calculated to hide her jangled nerves. Then she hobbled over to where Marni was standing and met the girl's eyes as reassuringly as she could manage.

"Dune," Marni said, her lip trembling. "You said Darunia's behind the barrier. But if only blood Sheikah—?"

"Stay strong, girl," Dune interrupted sternly. "And mind your tongue," she added under her breath.

Marni took several quick, deep breaths, but nodded. "Can I help?" She asked, her voice shaking badly. "Just tell me what to do."

Dune gave her an approving look as she dropped roughly to her knees in front of the barrier. "Keep praying," she said, turning her eyes to look down the long, shadowed hallway beyond the barrier. "As hard and as long as you can. And don't stop, no matter what happens."

"Okay," Marni managed. "N-Nayru shield me from the night. Farore deliver me to the dawn. Din deny the dark this soul."

Dune bowed her head before the barrier and summoned her courage and her resolve. The girl's prayer helped her centre herself. This was a huge risk. The Moblins would realize almost immediately what had happened. That they had been tricked. And they would be quick to take it out on their captives. But there was little other choice. She would not hand over the Sages. And they could not be allowed to seize the Caverns. No matter what the cost. She had sworn her oaths far too long ago to question them now.

"Nayru shield me from the night."

Dune raised her voice so that it would echo down the hall. " _Mel ara cen dweio kar!_ " she called.

"What you say?!" demanded the Moblin.

" _Mel criahar lodanan ces makani!_ "

"Hey!" yelled the Moblin, and it strode angrily toward her. "You stop! You tell me what you say!"

"Farore deliver me to the dawn."

" _Makan cen sira!_ " Dune shouted defiantly as the Moblin grabbed the back of her shawl and raised its blade to strike. She twisted in its grip and hooked her foot behind its knee. A vicious jerk sent it tumbling to the ground. The other Moblins shouted and started running toward her. She turned desperately back to the statues. " _Vena ces fierenzen!_ " she cried. " _Makan cen sira! Vena ces fierenzen!_ "

Marni closed her eyes in terror as the Moblins fell on the Sheikan general. Her mouth dried up and her lungs seized, but she called on every last shred of strength she had left in her. "Din deny the dark this soul! Din please!"

And in the darkness of the _Quisrol_ , seven sets of eyes blazed to life.

***

##  **Chapter 25 (cont.)**

"Dammit!" Hunter hisses. "Dammit a thousand times over!" He's remarkably close to panic, and I can't blame him.

"This is impossible," I say. "They can't _all_ be sealed off."

"All the ones I know about," he says. "Including the ones I'm not _supposed_ to know about."

"Why would they seal the Caverns?" Neesha demands. "Under what circumstances does that happen?"

"Rare ones," Hunter answers her grimly. He takes my offered hand and I pull him up and away from the caved in entrance. "Never in my lifetime. Only to protect the Caverns against invaders that have made it into Kakariko, and only as a last resort."

"What invaders?" I demand, gesturing broadly. "Hunter, there's no one here! Just...corpses." Moblins and people both. Hylians, Sheikah, a few Goron. Mostly civilians from the look of them.

He turns toward the centre of town. "Then either it worked and the Moblins gave up and left, or, more likely, the Moblins used their magic to get down there _with them_ and they're all locked in down there with the very things they were trying to get away from." I take back what I said about close to panic. He's all the way over the edge now. "We're going to the well."

"That's a horrible idea," I say. "We won't fit."

"You've got bombs," he says. "We'll make ourselves fit. The guardians won't bother us if we know the right words, which I do."

"What kind of guardians?" Neesha demands suspiciously. She doesn't know the details, but she knows I get pale and shudder if I have to talk about the well. And she knows what all Gerudo know, which is that Sheikah are creepy bastards. The combo is vivid enough. "It's bad enough you're going to drag me through some underground prison, but I'm not—Nayru!" She shields her eyes and leaps away from me as the Master Sword unexpectedly – and completely of its own accord – bursts into blue fire.

"What the Hell?" I snap, coming to a stop and drawing it from its sheathe.

"Link, what's—?" Hunter starts.

But I don't have time to answer him. The blue fire explodes, racing up the hilt and over my arm. I gasp, but it doesn't hurt. Warms without burning. It spreads across my chest and within seconds has consumed me. I have to close my eyes against the brightness of it.

"Link!" I hear Neesha yell, but then I don't hear anything but the crackling of the Master Sword's flames. And then they, too, die out.

For a moment I think I've actually gone blind. I can't see anything. All I can do is stand still and feel annoyed. I get that it's kind of a really busy time in Hyrule right now, I do. I get that there's a lot going on, and that there's a lot of places the Hero of Time might be useful.

But maybe, just once, we could _ask_ the damn Hero whether he'd _like_ to be jerked from one location to another without warning or explanation.

No. We're just going to drag him through a portal into Hell, or shove a Moon Pearl into a magic mirror, or light him on fire and teleport him. What does it matter what _he_ _wants_ to do? All that matters is what he _has_ to do.

And that becomes clear enough when my disorientation fades sufficiently for the rest of my senses to clue in to my surroundings. I'm in a closed in space, judging by the amount of echoes, and I can hear yelling and screaming and wailing not too far in the distance. That and the unmistakable grunting of Moblins. Now that is a sound I can get behind. That makes my goal instantly obvious.

I turn toward the noise, and the torchlight I just see flickering down the long hallway, when someone – Dune! – shouts " _Makan cen sira! Vena ces fierenzan!"_

My eyes still aren't adjusted to the darkness, so I'm not blinded when the room I'm in is infused with a white light. The _Quisrol._ I'm in the _Quisrol_. Which makes a certain kind of sense. And the statues standing in a protective circle around me are staring at me, eyes open and glowing. Which makes far less sense.

I am well acquainted with the warning signs of giant statues coming to life, so I've got time for a quick glance around to confirm that Hunter and Neesha aren't here before I throw myself at a gap in the ring. I press myself up against the wall, but whatever magic brought these guys to life is apparently of better quality than the standard run of the mill magic that has set many a gigantic statue on my ass over the course of my adventuring career. No chunks of stone go flying as they step from their pedestals and begin down the hall. There's barely even any dust – the Sheikah keep this place clean. There's just a deafening, mountainous groan as they move. Each of them holds an object of some significance within Sheikan myth, but I'm gonna go ahead and admit I never paid much attention. A sword, a pair of knives, a book, a bow, a shield, a chain, and a pair of empty hands. They move disturbingly smoothly for giants of stone, and I have no doubt that those are fully functional weapons in their hands.

You know I never fully appreciated just how big those statues were until they started moving. I stare incredulously after them for a moment, then lift the sword in my hand to stare at it. "Did you do this?" I demand, giving it a shake. "This isn't funny." I point down the hallway. "That's not funny."

A shrill, terrified shriek pierces all the way down the hallway, even over the crashing of the stone footsteps. It brings me back to the present immediately and incredulously. That was Marni.

Of course it was Marni.

Where _else_ would she be, if not in the middle of a room full of Moblins and murderous statues.

I don't bother sheathing the sword. I just turn and bolt down the hallway. I drag my shield from my back and burst out of the corridor and into the chamber beyond.

The confusion in the room is palpable. There are Moblins – the little ones, great, so magic – everywhere. At least a dozen by my count. And they've got a bunch of civilians with them. Their hands are tied, but at least a few of them have managed to get loose and are running around screaming in abject terror at the Moblins or the statues or both. And then there are the statues. Seven gigantic stone monuments swinging weapons or running their fingers along a page as they chant a spell, or just, you know, punching stuff. They are doing some incredible damage to the chamber as they chase the panicking Moblins, and I have the dubious honour of watching one catch their prey. There is very little left of the Moblin when it's over, and it's over fast.

I give myself a shake. Stab first, questions later. I don't know enough about the situation to make anything resembling an informed decision so let's go with some assumptions. I'm going to assume the statues are on our side. I'm also going to assume that anyone who is not a Moblin is on our side. Prioritization is important when one has absolutely no clue what one is doing.

There's a convenient little dog pile of Moblins – at least three – right in front of me, so I throw myself forward and hit them at full tilt. The tackle sends one of them flying backwards towards someone – Marni, bruised and bloody – and she scrambles backwards with a shriek. She's cradling her arm to her chest like it's broken, and her face is positively bloodless. I cannot believe she's still on her feet. "Nayru shield me through the night!" she sobs. "Farore deliver me to the dawn! Din deny the dark this soul! Nayru shield me through the night!"

I catch sight of a blue clothed leg at the bottom of the Moblin pile and shuffle my priorities back to where they belong. I loose the sword's fire and set to with my shield – can't use the blade until they're separated from whoever's on the bottom. The sight of the blue light combined with the pounding of my shield is enough to send the topmost one scrambling. I catch it across the chest as it tries to dodge me and it goes down with a porcine shriek. They're mages; their armour's nothing compared to this blade. I turn to get the last one, but it gurgles in an unattractive way and a deep shudder runs through it as its own blade explodes out its back. Dune shoves the corpse off and holds out a hand for me to help her up.

She gives me a wide-eyed, half-crazed look that I take to mean _so-many-questions-too-many-questions_ – I know because I'm giving her the same one – but she's a Sheikah to the core and it's gone an instant later. I'm not the only one who prioritizes. "Civilians," she says.

I nod and we turn to join the fray with the statues, who are notably at a disadvantage against Moblins with human shields. They really are smarter than your average pig, these ones. They've figured out that the statues differentiate friend from foe and are keeping the civilians between them and the stone guardians.

But they can't do that without leaving their flanks open. And for every ounce of help their hostages give them against the statues, it's a pound of trouble from Dune and I. They can't afford to let loose with any impressive spells, or they'll destroy their meat shields (and each other) and the homicidal stonework will finish them off. And keeping the hostages means keeping their distance. But we're good enough to take them out without risking the hostages – already two are down, a slim blade protruding from the eye of one, and an arrow from the heart of another. So really, the fact that the statues can't do much about them isn't much of an advantage.

The Moblins make just about the only choice they _can_ make, which is that maybe they're better off if everybody's running around screaming their heads off and complicating the whole situation. At a shout from one, they release their hostages with a shove. The hostages do what non-combatants usually do in combat situations – panic.

A few of the Moblins cast a spell, and there's a flash around each of their allies. Some kind of augmentation – nothing the Master Blade cares about, though it'll give Dune some trouble. The statues can't move in right away, they're too big and there are still too many bystanders, but you can see they're just _itching_ to get in there.

Doesn't stop me, though.

I throw myself at the closest Moblin and it meets my blade with its own. Whatever advantage I gained from the surprise of my arrival and the general confusion around us is lost now. Three of them gang up on me and it's suddenly all I can do to retreat behind my shield to fend off their attack. They're faster than the big ones too, and that was _before_ they got all hopped on magical augmentation.

"Dune!" I call as they drive me back toward the centre of the room. She's badly injured – was before the fight started – but my opponents aren't letting me through to back her up.

"I've got it, Link! Worry about the others!"

I'm about to argue with her – because no she damn well doesn't – when a giant stone arrow destroy one of the Moblins facing her.

Okay.

Maybe I'm in more trouble than she is.

I pull a risky feint and manage to sink the Master Sword into the chest of one of the Moblins, but I trade my blow for one of theirs. A curved blade slices across my back and it belatedly occurs to me to hope their weapons aren't poisoned. The slash draws a gasp from my lips and I stumble one way, but the Moblin I just killed falls the other with my sword stuck in its rib cage. I lose both my grip on the ancient blade _and_ my balance. I topple sideways, just barely getting my shield up in time to block the next blow. And the next. And the one after that. I have a brief, panicky flashback to Nobernal, pounding on my shield like rage incarnate.

If I were in the Dark World the Beast would be roaring its way to the forefront right about now, tearing these Moblins limb from limb. It's the suspicious absence of my own rage incarnate that breaks the flashback. It's a cold comfort, maybe, but at least I know that if I'm going to die here, I'll die as myself. And I'll do it on home soil, not stuck in a pit in the Dark World.

The Moblin raises its blade for one last strike – I know I won't be able to keep the shield up for another – but there's a yell from somewhere behind it. The sound is distinguishable from the din of the only because of its sheer impossibility. It's an angry, terrified, high-pitched battle cry with absolutely no business being shouted anywhere but in the safety of the Lost Woods. And yet the Moblin falls away from my shield with a startled grunt. I get a glimpse of a tiny set of freckled hands wrapped in a death grip around its throat, and a set of bright white teeth buried in a long Moblin ear.

Farore. It's Mido.

I scramble to my feet. "Mido!" I shout. The third Moblin is running up behind him, blade out, and he doesn't see it. "Mido _let go_!" I snarl the command, a pitch perfect imitation of Bruiser's authoritative growl.

There's a moment, brief and breathless, where I'm afraid he didn't hear me. And I'm convinced that for all my promises I'm going to be bringing him home in pieces. But at the last possible second he does as I say. He releases the Moblin and falls with an 'oof' to the ground.

The third Moblin is moving too quickly to correct its trajectory now. It stumbles over the unexpected Kokiri speed bump and buries its sword in its friend's back. It actually looks genuinely surprised by this turn of events, and if my heart wasn't beating a hundred thousand miles a minute I might take the time to be amused. But I lunge toward it instead, tearing the Master Sword from the Moblin it's stuck in as I go. The friendly-firing Moblin doesn't even have time to recover before I'm on it. It goes down beside its buddy with a gurgling shriek.

I wait a split second to make sure neither one of them is getting up again before I turn back to Mido. He's got his hands on his knees, and is doubled over, shaking like a leaf. He's struggling to breathe through his panic. There's Moblin blood all over him, smeared on his teeth and around his mouth. He'd look feral if not for the intense fear in his eyes. He meets my stunned gaze with an expression that is screaming for me, as a responsible adult, to just do my job and make it all better. My heart breaks for him.

Before I can ask him if he's all right, there's a scream from behind us and we both turn at the sound.

"Marni!" we cry simultaneously. My surprise that he knows her costs me, because he's off like a shot the next instant. "Mido wait!" I gasp. I feel like an old man as I chase him. There's something disturbing about how familiar this activity is – he and I in a race he started before I was ready. If it weren't for the screaming and the monsters and the chaos I could almost believe he'll turn around and shout out that a _real_ Kokiri wouldn't have any trouble keeping up with him.

But these aren't the Woods, and neither one of us is playing.

Marni is curled into a ball on the ground, shielding another little boy with her body, as the Moblin I threw off Dune when I first exited the hallway brings its sword down.

Mido gets there before me – his legs are short, but he's not weighed down by sword and shield, or slowed by a gash across his back. He tucks his chin against his chest and throws his whole body at the back of the Moblin’s legs. It gives a startled shout and drops its sword as it falls backward. The blade slices across Marni's side, but I don't think she even notices. Her eyes are closed, one hand buried in the other little boy's shirt. "Farore deliver me to the dawn," she continues to sob frantically. "Din deny the dark this soul!"

"Marni!" gasps the boy underneath her desperately. "Marni let me up! Mido!"

"I've got him," I yell, but it turns out to be a lie. I dash carelessly past a Moblin I thought I had killed earlier, but it turns out I wasn't as thorough as I should have been. It grabs my ankle as I run past and I hit the ground, several feet too short to help Mido. I swear furiously and twist to kick at its hand, but it's already too late and I know it.

The other Moblin has wrenched itself around and dragged Mido across the blood stained floor. It's got its hands wrapped around his throat in a rage. "Mido!" I yell. "Mido!"

I kick the Moblin holding me viciously in the face, shattering what I hope is more than just its nose, then twist and drive my hand down into my pouch. Can't get to my feet, it'll take too long. Can't crawl over, I won't make it. Marni's trying to untangle herself from the boy under her, but they won't be in time either. Nothing more I can do but this – it burns me. It burns me to do it. It's wrong the way the Dark World is wrong. But I'm out of time, and he's out of options.

I haul the first sword I ever held from the pouch – it's barely more than a knife in my hands now. It's small and light, but straight and sharp and took good care of me until I found my real sword. They called it the Kokiri Sword, but it was never meant for a Kokiri. It was meant for me. A part of me knows that by putting it in Mido's hand I'm dooming him. I don't know how, or why, but it's true just the same.

I send it skittering across the floor towards him and meet his eyes as they struggle to focus on mine.

He understands. He reaches out with a hand, fingers scraping at the stone as he gasps and chokes and writhes. I'm pushing myself to my feet, to avenge him if I have to, but his fingers close at last around the hilt. He brings it up with every last shred of strength a terrified eleven-year-old can muster. That close he can't miss. Not even with his vision going black. The force of the strike drives the little blade deep into the Moblin’s eye, right up to the hilt.

It shudders violently and jerks backwards. The other little boy is there – must be Cota, he looks too much like Marni not to be. He grabs Mido's tunic and drags him desperately out of the way of the Moblin as it topples over. I'm at their side the next instant, and I've got them both by their collars as I haul them back over to Marni and away from the spasming Moblin.

Marni grabs her brother and I snatch Mido, turning his face away from the corpse. He struggles in my grip. "Link," he says, his voice so hoarse my own hurts in sympathy. "Link take me back there. Please."

"Mido, you don't want to see that," I say seriously. "You're okay, forget about—."

"Take me back!" he insists. "It has something. I have to…the ink, Link. I have to free it." He points weakly.

I don't know what to say. I should be playing Saria's song _right now_ , but it feels cruel to deny him anything. I don't want him to look at the corpse. The Moblin _he_ killed. But he shoves at me until I put him down. He stumbles unsteadily over to the Moblin – it makes him shake to look at it – and pulls at its cloak. The material is stuck underneath the corpse, so I move over to help him drag it free of the body and he fumbles at a pocket on the inside of it. I shift my weight nervously. "Mido, be careful, you don't know what's—agh!"

A painfully bright light explodes from the pocket as Mido withdraws his hand, prompting gasps from everyone near me, and uniting the cacophony of the battle beyond us into a single, startled shout. Then I hear the sound of glass shattering as Mido hurls the bottle away. The light is gone in an instant, and I have just enough time to grab Mido and curl myself around him before the inky blackness that was apparently buried somewhere in that glass jar explodes outwards. The torchlight is consumed, instantly. Even the light from the stone guardians' eyes vanishes with a sound like a sigh.

People start to scream, but then they cut themselves off or are cut off. The Moblins, though. The Moblins start screaming in earnest. It's a particularly terrifying sound. I can feel Mido clamp his hands over his ears and I would do the same if I didn't need them to keep him shielded.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it's over. The torchlight flickers back into existence. The stone guardians blink around the room with their glowing eyes, searching for the invaders. But the invaders are dead. Every last one of them. The people left in the room turn questioning, frightened eyes on each other, and Dune startles them all when she begins to laugh, nearly hysterical.

"Impa," she says by way of explanation, but of course no one understands her except for me. The stone guardians turn and move away from the chamber, following the wave of shadow in search of more invaders to crush.

Well. That's one problem down I guess.

I uncurl slowly from around Mido, but he doesn't struggle this time, or seem inclined to climb down from my arms. He keeps his hands pressed over his ears, and buries his face in my tunic. Then he bursts into tears. "It's everywhere," he sobs. "It won't go away. I can hear it."

"Hear what?" I ask, startled.

"It's not whispering anymore," he sobs. "It's so loud! I can't stand it! Make it stop, Link!"

I lean back to try to get a better look at him, but my hand clatters against the hilt of the bloody Kokiri Sword. I stare at it for a long moment, then turn back to him.

"Link, please," he whimpers.

The realization hits me hard and takes all the air from my lungs. I hug him tighter as my heart shatters.

"I don't think I can, Mido," I tell him hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."

There are some things even I can't put back together.

***

A few hours later we've been rounded up and corralled into a room. They found Hunter and Neesha down in the well, trying to figure out a way to blow the hole without bombs. Hunter sits beside me, elbowing me in the side if he thinks I'm about to nod off. We gave up on Neesha an hour ago. She's got her head on her arms on the table, passed out. Impa is sitting across from us looking tired and drawn, with a clear migraine behind her eyes, but from what I understand, the fact the she is walking and talking is a cause for celebration. Dune was hurt badly enough she got a healing potion, so she's looking much better than she had been previously. Darunia and Karun are on the other side of the table from the Sheikah and appear generally unharmed.

"…and those," I say finishing up my long and sordid tale, "are the highlights of our tropical vacation in Hell."

"That Zelda is alive bodes well for the rebellion in Castletown," Impa says, dark eyes considering. "If we had proof of it."

"You've got the word of a kidnapper and murderer already convicted in the court of public opinion," I tell her. "Sorry."

A brief smile plays at the corner of her lips. "The court of public opinion is a fickle institution. I believe the Eldricks built you up to be something of a martyr when they were fanning the flames in Castletown. You should now find yourself placed upon a higher pedestal than you were even previously."

"The Eldricks?" I demand, balking. "Why would they do that?"

"You were the perfect option," Hunter says, nodding approvingly. "Hero of Time, maligned and betrayed by the same nobles they took issue with. And they probably figured you were dead, so bonus. They look good for beatifying you, can play up the regret of not having treated you better while you lived for sympathy points, and don't have to actually worry about ever making good on any of it."

I take all that in, then make a face at him. "Stop being good at that, it makes me hate you."

"Stop being bad at it, and I wouldn't have to compensate."

"I cannot decide," Darunia says, off in his own little world, "whether this was a victory or a loss." He holds out one massive hand. "The Sage of Shadow and the Hero of Time both are restored to us, the Moblin invaders destroyed handily, and news of closed portals all in a single battle." Then he holds out the other hand. "But we were fooled into locking ourselves into these caverns with our enemy among us, and we did not escape without casualties. Most of them those we swore to protect."

"Would have been more if Dune hadn't summoned the guardians and that boy hadn't freed me," Impa says. "It was a victory, Big Brother. Let's leave it at that."

"There have certainly been few enough of them," Karun agrees with a nod.

"I'm not restored to you for long," I remind them. "Not until I've got your son and the others and brought them home again."

Impa drums her fingers on the table. "We could use you," she says, "but there is no one else to rescue the maidens, and we cannot leave those portals open. Have you told Nabooru?"

"Yeah," I say, "but we haven't actually discussed it at length, yet."

"How long are you staying?" Dune asks.

I exchange a look with Hunter and sigh heavily. "Tonight," I say. "We need sleep. Badly. Tomorrow we'll head back to the desert and get Sahasrahla to explain to me how to work the mirror. And then if we can get back, we go back."

"You should take a few days," Darunia says, eyes concerned. "Rest. No offence, but I can see the strain on your faces and in your eyes. As much as it pains me to suggest leaving my boy in there any longer, as you've said, he's safe. Protected. You are not. And you'll need your strength."

Hunter clears his throat in a pained way. "The problem is the longer we stay here, the less we want to go back," he says. "It'll be better now, with the Moon Pearl. But it's honestly…it's not anything…these have not been a good few weeks."

"Besides," I add, "a few more days means time for the Moblins to redistribute their forces to the remaining portals. I'd rather get them shut down before that happens. The advantage we have right now won't last forever." Dun opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a wave. "Can I make a request?" I say. "We've filled you in on what happened while we were gone, can we talk about what happens next tomorrow? I haven't slept in what feels like a year, today I watched a little boy who is also an old friend of mine go through something so traumatic I can't even explain it to you, and tomorrow I have to do whatever it takes to find a way to drag myself back to what is very literally Hell and submit myself to its clutches once more. I don't have a strategic discussion in me right now, I just don't. I need to find a corner to pass out in."

Hunter nods his agreement from beside me.

Impa frowns – because _priorities you children_ – but Darunia and Dune both wave us off. I push my chair back from the table and get to my feet. Hunter rises with me, kicking Neesha on the way.

She wakes up with a snort, stares around at the table a little wildly, then gets to her feet as well. "Where are we going?" she demands, voice groggy.

"To bed," I tell her. I glance at the gathered Sages and Generals. "I've got a lot of travelling to do tomorrow. We can finish this discussion over breakfast, and if you've got any messages you want ported around give them to me then."

We yawn our goodnights and head out into the hall.

Hunter waits until we're away from the door before he raises an eyebrow at me. "You're hiding something," he says. "You didn't just cut that off because you're tired."

I just barely manage to stifle my yawn. "I already know how the conversation going to end and I don't have the energy to handle it right now," I say.

"Enlighten us," he replies.

"We'll talk about what everyone else is going to do, then we'll talk about the Gerudo. Nabooru should have the Moblins cleared out by the time we get to the desert tomorrow, and the portal there is closed. Which means they're going to need new marching orders. I'm dropping the two of you off at Castletown tomorrow to get a message to Dad, while I go talk to Nabooru and get everything else set up. We can work out timing tomorrow when I'm capable of doing math."

"What's the message?"

I offer her a grin, fierce despite how badly I need sleep, and her eyes slowly widen as the reality of what I'm planning sinks in. Hunter's, in comparison, narrow.

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," he says dully.

"I know," I say, unnecessarily self-indulgent. "Shame we won't be here to see it play out. It's going to be quite a show."

***

At some point in the middle of the night, Marni wakes me to say something about Mido crying and she can't soothe him and he's asking for me. I get up and groggily stumble behind her to her recently upgraded rooms, where I crawl into bed with the sniffling Kokiri without really understanding what's happening. I let him curl up against me and am asleep again before he's even settled.

When I wake up the next morning and stare, bleary eyed around the room, it takes me a minute to remember what happened. And even then I'm not sure I didn't dream it until I spot Mido sitting on a chair on the other side of the room. He's got a borrowed toy soldier in his hands, and is making a listless attempt to play with it. His eyes are red and raw, and he rubs at his ears like they're bothering him, but he seems in better shape than I remember him being last night.

There's something in his eyes, though. Some subtle, nameless difference.

He takes the little soldier's sword between his fingers with an impressively dark expression and snaps it off.

I raise an eyebrow, but I haven't got it in me to scold him for breaking things that aren't his. That's the most like his old self I've seen him since I got here.

I push the blanket back and hang my legs over the edge of the bed. He looks up and meets my eyes and for a moment his lip trembles dangerously, but he manages to steady it. "I don't like swords," he says hoarsely.

"You don't have to," I tell him. "There are lots of people who don't like them."

"I used to want one," he says, looking back down at the toy in his hands. "I used to be so jealous that you got that sword and I didn't." His face twists and he shifts like he's uncomfortable. "I don't feel right. I feel like I'm moving all the time. I hear…I hear…" He pauses to rub at his ear again, and then abandons the difficult descriptor. "I don't…I can't feel Savi." His eyes well up with tears. "Before, I could. I could always…she was there." He bites his lip hard enough that I wince and clenches his hand on the toy, trying to get himself back under control. "Link, what if something happened to her? What if something happened and it's my fault?"

I feel like I've swallowed a ball of lead. I still don't fully understand what the Deku Tree meant about Death finding Mido, but I'm pretty sure whatever it is I failed to save him from it. Worse, I don't understand the consequences. I don't know what it means for Mido in the long term. I didn't think there'd be a long term. I just thought he'd die. And I don't know what it means for a fairy whose partner just lost the biggest game of Hide and Seek ever.

I don't know what to tell him.

But I know who does.

I get to my feet. "Come on," I say. "My ocarina's in my room. Let's get you home."

But his hand tightens around the toy and he pulls his knees up to his chest and shrinks into himself. He shakes his head mutely and I cock my head at him. "Why not?"

"I can't," he says, and turns his face away. Shame colours his cheeks, makes his freckles stand out.

Oh.

"Hey," I say gently, dropping into a crouch in front of him, "don't do that. You haven't done anything wrong."

"I ki—," he tries, but chokes on the word. "I kil—."

"You defended yourself," I correct him sternly. "And your life was only in danger because you were trying to save other people. And you did, Mido. You saved, them all right? Marni, and Cota, _and_ me. None of us would still be here if it weren't for you."

He rubs at his ears and is unable to meet my gaze.

I drum my fingers against my knee, trying to figure out what to say, and how to say it. I mean, what do you say to someone who's too new to understand the blacks and whites and greys of war, but who's basically been thrown into the middle of it anyway?

I don't care how many years he's existed, he's so young. Too young.

As young as I was when they put a sword in my hand and sent me out to fight.

What did I do the first time I killed something? Puked, I'm pretty sure, so he's one up on me already unless Marni took care of that before she called me in. What would I have wanted to hear? If Navi hadn't been as new as I was, what would I have wanted her to say?

"Mido, look at me," I say, and wait until he does. "I want you to understand two things, okay?" I wait for his pathetic nod. "First," I hold up a finger, "you killed somebody, and no matter how good your reasons were that's never going to change. You can't unkill them. It's done, you did it, and you're going to have to live with that from this point forward." He lowers his eyes and starts to turn away, but I grab his face and keep him focused on me. I hold up the second finger. "I've killed a lot of somebodies in my life. They weren't all Moblins. And I haven't always had as good a reason as you did. It's not always easy to live with that, but I manage." My face softens. "I've got a lot of fathers, too, and not one of them has ever stopped loving me because of it. Even when I didn't have good reasons. Even when I screwed up. And that includes the Deku Tree. He won't hate you, Mido. But he needs to know that you're okay."

His eyes well up with tears and there's no stopping them this time. "But I'm not okay."

I pull him into a hug. "He needs to know that too," I tell him.

I wait until he's calmed down before I pull back and consider him closely for a moment. He wipes his eyes, and avoids my gaze, but finally he nods reluctantly and slides down off the seat. I take his hand and call out to Marni that I've got him, don't panic, and we head back to the room I'm currently sharing with Hunter.

The Sheikah opens his mouth to ask me where I've been, but shuts it immediately when he spots the kid. His expression shifts into a wordless question.

I shake my head at him in a wordless answer. "I'm taking him home," I say. And give him a look that says _I'll know more then_. "Shouldn't be long. I'll meet you and Neesha in the common room for breakfast."

"K," he says.

It takes me all of a minute to get dressed and dig my ocarina out of my pouch. "Ready?" I ask Mido. He nods mutely, his face a mask of dread. He clings to the edge of my tunic as Saria's Song dances out of the flute. When the whirl of green light fades we're standing at the Forest Temple.

Mido sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He stares around like he's forgotten what home looked like in the few weeks he's been gone. "I wish Saria were here," he manages in a tiny voice.

"Me too," I tell him. "But I know she's safe for now, and I'll bring her home soon."

One prodigal Kokiri at a time, kid.

Either the other Kokiri are still in bed, or the Deku Tree is doing his wise, all-seeing, magical deciduous thing, because we don't run into any of them on our way to his glade. I am glad of it, no matter why. I don't think Mido could handle the crowd right now.

Guilt and grief gnaw at my gut as we enter the glade. This isn't the home-coming anybody was hoping for.

"Mido!" calls the Deku Tree, his relief palpable. "Mido, I am so happy you have returned."

"D-Deku Tree," Mido manages. He comes to a stop when I do, half hiding behind my leg, "I, uh. I…um. I didn't…." But his eyes fall on a small figure crawling over the Deku Tree's roots and his breath leaves him in a rush. His eyes go wide, like someone's punched him in the gut, and his hands fly to his mouth in horror. "Savi!" The cry is a sob.

"Mido!" cries the figure in a voice that is nothing like a fairy's. It sounds like a wind chime made of hollow wood. "Mido you're okay! You're okay!" Savi – I guess – toddles over to him. She is…not…a fairy. She's a little shorter than Mido now, but looks like a cross between a crudely made doll and an acorn. A mask made of a broad leaf is pinned to her face, a strange expression cut into it.

Mido can't even talk anymore. He crumples to his knees and buries his face in his hands and just wails. Savi hugs him as best she can in her new form, petting his hair and whispering "Shhhhh!" over and over again.

I leave them to it and approach the Deku Tree.

"I am glad," he says somberly, "thou hast brought him home. When Savi changed, I feared the worst."

I shrug uncomfortably and glance back at the trembling Kokiri. "I'm not sure what shape I brought him back in. I wasn't in time to…he was in the Sheikah Caverns. Moblins invaded. He…saved a lot of people, me included, but…." I hesitate, wince. "I gave him my old sword. It was that, or let him die. I didn't know what else to do."

The Great Deku Tree harooms in understanding. His boughs creak in a sad way, and I force myself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I say.

"He is home," says the Deku Tree. "Thou art both safe. Do not apologize for that."

I swallow thickly and give him a nod. For a moment we watch Savi try to console Mido, and I stir from my thoughts to ask, "what happened to her?"

"Death's touch means many things, takes many forms," says the Deku Tree. He sounds older, closer to the wizened old gnarl of an oak he was when I was Mido's age. "This, Mido understands without being able to express." He shifts, rustles his leaves in a heavy sigh. "A Kokiri is made by twining together something of the world, and something of the Woods. Of the space between spaces, into which death cannot reach. A fairy partner – with one exception – is an expression of this bond, of the piece of the Kokiri that is of the Woods. It is too simple an analogy, but she gives the Kokiri half her essence to bind the two into one.

"When a Kokiri is in the Woods, this bond protects him. But when he is in the world, he cannot hide. The bond is a beacon. Death is an absolute. It is neither betwixt, nor between, and cannot abide either – and the Kokiri are both. Its touch does not always kill, but always it severs and grounds. Most often to the next life. But sometimes, to this one. And there is no turning back."

I lean up against his trunk, trying to follow what he's telling me. A frown stretches my lips. "You're saying…Mido's connection to Savi was severed?" I say slowly.

"Mido's connection to the Woods," the Deku Tree corrects me gravely. "And his connection to Savi along with it. He is no more of the Woods than you are now. And Savi is no longer twined with a partner, but exists as her own entity. What was given freely, has been returned. She is a piece of the Woods, without the world to ground it. But do not frown so, young Hero," he adds gently. "Death is not only absolute, but inevitable. Not even I can avoid it forever, as well you know. He is a brave boy, as brave as you in his way. He will be a brave man when the time comes."

I blink, straighten. "Wait, what?"

The Deku Tree's leaves rustle again. "Death has marked him," he explains. "As you are marked. As all who dwell beyond the Woods are marked. He will always be my son, but will not be a child for much longer."

"You mean, he's…." I stop, think, process that. "He's just a regular kid now. Like everybody else. He'll grow up? Grow old?"

"Aye," sighs the Tree. "And he will need guidance, care. He may stay here, if he wishes, he will always be welcome, but…."

"He won't want to," I finish for him, sagging against his bark. Been there, done that, kept the hat. I think it over for a minute. "I've got some work to do today, before I do anything else. Couple hours at least. Let him catch his breath, think it over. I'll come check in before I start the bigger stuff. It's safer here, but…if he wants to leave I can bring him back to Kakariko. Marni will watch him until the war is over, and then…well…."

He's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me so bad. But fair is fair. "My dad kind of owes you about eight years' worth of babysitting fees."

"Thank you, Link," says the Deku Tree gratefully. "Whatever his decision, we will be ready when you return."

***

"The Council of Sages reconvenes this afternoon," Impa says. I struggle to pay attention to what she's saying, but the bacon and eggs are calling my name so loudly they're practically drowning her out. I haven't had a real breakfast in weeks and the fact that I'm unlikely to have another any time soon means I'm treating this like my last meal. "Darunia and I will brief the others then, and we will make our decisions regarding how we redistribute our troops, given recent developments. With portals down here, in the desert, and at Lake Hylia, we may be able to use our forces more efficiently than we are now."

"With reinforcements, we can push the Moblins back, deeper into the mountains," Karun says, watching in amusement as Neesha tries to stab my hand with her fork when I attempt to snatch a piece of toast from her plate. "Maybe even reclaim Goron City. The other portal in this area is buried deep in the stone indeed. Their position here is significantly weaker, and they no longer have a contingent of mages at their disposal."

I swallow my over-abundant mouthful with an effort. "Best to ask the Zora for backup," I tell him. "The Gerudo won't do well in the mountains in winter."

"Can they drive the Moblin forces out of the desert on their own?" Impa asks.

I pause with a sausage halfway to my mouth and offer her a fierce grin. "I spoke to Nabooru yesterday, so I imagine they're mopping up the remainder right now. They're angry, frustrated, and have been penned up in that Fortress for weeks. By the time I get out there today, the Moblins will be nothing but rent flesh and broken bone."

"You're sure?"

"Nabooru was," I reply. "I gather the skirmishes have been big enough that if the Moblins aren't getting reinforcements, there aren't enough of them left to win."

"So where will you send them once the desert is clear?" Karun asks. "If not the mountains. Lake Hylia is under control – and they'd fare worse in the water than the snow anyway. Kakariko is bloodied but secured. There are not many fronts left to this war all of a sudden."

Neesha and Hunter both suddenly become very interested in their breakfasts, and I shove an entire piece of toast in my mouth under the pretence of needing time to think about it.

"There are two," I reply once I've swallowed. "First, there are seven maidens, so there must be seven portals. We only know about five of them. And judging by the layout of the Dark World, and the goddess forsaken symmetry of this sort of thing, you're looking at one in Castletown – which explains the Moblins Dad's been fighting – and another somewhere in Hyrule Field."

"If there was a portal in Hyrule Field why aren't they using it?" Dune asks.

"It's not ideal – or wasn't," Impa replies in a tone that means she's clearly considered this before. "By coming in at the edges of Hyrule they are able to claim the lands around the portal and fortify their position to keep the supply of reinforcements flowing. Had they attempted to enter in our midst, we would have found the portal and rendered it useless to them anyway by securing it ourselves."

"But now that they've lost three of their other options…" Karun says. He rumbles unhappily. "I see."

"Exactly," I say. "It'll take them time to redistribute their forces. They'll have to march them across the Dark World to get them to the new location. But the Gerudo will beat them there. They'll secure the area around the portal and pin them in place. They're not going to be getting in that way." I glance at Impa. "They'll need clothes," I tell her. "Winter gear. No Sheikan symbols if you can manage it – they'll be unhappy enough camping in the Field in winter."

"They'll have it," she says after a moment's consideration.

"You said first," Dune notes, eyeing me suspiciously. "What's second?"

"Castletown," I say.

Several eyebrows around the table go up. Impa looks positively unenthused. "That situation is a powder keg," she says sharply. "The addition of Gerudo will not make it any less explosive."

"You know what makes things less explosive?" I respond, giving her a dull look. "Blowing them up. Also, taking off the Hero hat here, and speaking as King of the Gerudo – I'll do what I want and you can't stop me."

She gives me a look that has sent many a Sheikah scurrying to escape it, but I hold my ground. "And were you wearing your Hero hat, what would you say?"

"I'll do what I want and you can't stop me."

We stare each other down for a long, tense moment. "You are making this decision for the good of Hyrule?" she asks at last.

"I am," I promise her. "But I don't want to talk about the details because despite what you all think I _have_ learned something about politics in the last few years. And I can also promise you that everyone around this table will be glad for the plausible deniability when everything's said and done."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Impa says darkly.

"I don't really care," I respond flatly. Hunter gives me a dirty look for being a jerk about it, but there's no point in beating around the bush with Impa.

Besides, breakfast or no breakfast, my morning hasn't exactly been fun so far, and I've got more than a few difficult conversations left to have before I can even think about lunch. So I'd rather just nip this one in the bud. She and I both know how it's going to end anyway, and as much as it burns her she knows she's better off _not_ having the details.

We stare each other down. "Hunter's got your messages for Brayden, and I'll fill Nabooru in before the Council meets this afternoon. If there's nothing else, I think now's a good time for us to head out."

"I'm not done eating!" Neesha growls, but Hunter jabs her in the side. She slouches in her seat and crosses her arms across her chest sulkily. "Throw me out into the goddess damned snow on half a goddess damned breakfast. I _literally_ haven't eaten in like a month, you know."

"Will you return to Kakariko before you leave?" Impa asks.

"Not a guarantee," I say, "but I expect to, yes."

"Fine," she says. "Good luck and be careful."

"Likewise," I say with a nod. Hunter and Neesha get to their feet and I pull my ocarina free of my pouch.

I'm sure the conversation gets lively immediately after we're gone.

We land at the Temple of Time and I shiver in the cold air. A deep pang of homesickness rings hollowly in my heart. Right now I'd give just about anything to head over to the Archery Shop and just sit for a while, but it's not like Bruiser's there to harangue at me about taking off my boots before I track water all over the floor and he supposes I expect to be fed and if I'm staying for any length of time I'm taking a shift at the register like everybody else.

The other two look like they're having similar thoughts, but none of us have time to dwell. I clear my throat. "Two hours," I tell them. "Be back here waiting. If you need to send someone else, give them the password Anduriel."

"Got it," Hunter says. "Any message for your dad?"

I think about it. "Tell him he's old."

He grins. "Got it."

And then they're out into the snow and the shadows, following Mido's directions to Dad's hideout, and I'm teleporting away again before I trip any magical alarms that may be up.

I don't really have time to worry about them, as much as I want to. I just don't get the chance. A moment later the chill has disappeared entirely from the air, replaced with a blistering heat, and I'm staring at a pack of Gerudo elite. They are smiling or scowling or looking startled, but they're all teeth when they see me – makes me think of the Dark World Gerudo, but these are a different kind of pack. They're on their feet in an instant, bowing or laughing or pulling me in to punch me. Amplissa – has to be her, no one else would dare – leaps on my back and drives me down, face-first into the sand. A laugh bubbles up from my chest and out into the air, and the sound of it warms me in an unexpected way. It's been so long since I had something to laugh about.

I wrestle with Amplissa for a moment, but it's an easy fight. She's sporting some semi-serious injuries and hasn't got the strength to take me right now. She ducks her head grudgingly once I pin her, then sneaks in a cheap shot to my gut when I let her go. "I'll get you back when I've healed."

I meet her eyes and grin. "Twenty rupees says you don't."

"So the King has finally graced us once again with his presence," says a sour voice from the back of the group. The women part to reveal Nabooru. Her eyes are hard. "The Moblins are dead. The Desert is cleansed, as instructed," she reports. "Now you're going to run that thing by me again. That thing where you intend to go back to whatever Hell put that ice in your eyes."

"It's a long story," I say.

"Tell it on the road."

"Can't," I tell her, and fold my legs under myself to make it clear I have no intentions of moving. "I have to wait here for a couple hours."

She stares at me and heaves a sigh from the very depths of her soul – and she's the Sage of Spirit. It's a deep soul. "Why?" she manages.

"Dropped Hunter and Neesha off at Castletown to deliver a message. Rendezvous in two hours. I'll pick them up and bring them back here. _Then_ we can go home. I need to talk to Sahasrahla. Also, do you have anything to eat? I'm starving."

"We have—," starts one of the new faces. The Elite have clearly taken casualties since I left, which sobers me up considerably. I know better than to ask now, though. That's a private question, for later. The Gerudo don't mourn publicly – it's disrespectful. But I don't have the kind of control they do. Best I don't know the names until later.

Nabooru cuts the newbie off. "He can have leevers," she says. And curls her lip just a little bit at me.

"You know what?" I say. "Fine. At least I know it was never a person."

"What?" Amplissa says, staring at me blankly.

"Like I said, long story." I move over to the shade of the Temple wall and drop to the ground against it. "I'll give you the highlights, but then we talk business. Deal?"

"Deal," Nabooru says.

So food is handed out and I run them down the quick version of what happened after I left the Fortress chasing Neesha what feels like a lifetime ago. Even the quick version takes me almost the full two hours. In between incredulous interruptions and disbelieving questions, plus my own reluctance at certain points, I'm surprised I get it out at all. The newer, younger women stare at me like I've got two heads and probably wonder exactly what they've signed on to. It's only the willingness of the veteran elite to buy my story that keeps them from washing their hands of me entirely.

"A rabbit," Amplissa says flatly once I'm finished, face horrified.

"A pink one," I clarify. It's a testament to how much I missed these women that I am willing to give them this kind of ammo. "I went over that, like, thirty minutes ago. We're past that part now."

"I'm still stuck on it."

"Right."

"I'm going to be stuck on it forever. The King of the Gerudo turned into a damn rabbit."

"A pink one," I remind her.

"I remember Ciardi," Nabooru says, a frown playing on her face. "Hard woman. Ambitious. Heart so cold it burned, even then. Some of the other names are familiar, but you'll have to talk to Rue. Most of us were too young when they left."

"I remember Anahti," Indiga says. "Wild one, her. Came close to exile more than once. The others…I knew because they were Elite. Face and names, though. Reputation. Not the women themselves."

"If I can find some way to get them home I will," I say. "Wild or not. But I don't know enough yet to make promises. There's still too many ways this could all play out."

"You still intend to go back," Nabooru says with a frown. "After all that?"

I raise an eyebrow at her. "After all that, how could I not?" I demand.

"A rabbit," says Amplissa again. She crinkles her nose. "We can't hang out anymore."

"I will miss your company," I tell her. "But given how many times this rabbit has kicked your ass, maybe I agree you might want more appropriate company. A mouse, perhaps. Or a flea."

"I will cook you," she says with the closest thing to affection a Gerudo can muster, "and turn you into a stew."

"I will be delicious," I assure her. "You're an excellent cook."

"Wear your ear as a good luck charm. I hear the Hylians do that."

"Foot actually," I correct her.

"So," Nabooru interrupts. "Business, then." The younger ladies are staring at us in a way I can only describe as agog. Doubtless, they expected more formality when addressing the King. More dignity. I offer them a wide, wolfish grin. This bunch will be fun, I think. New Elite always are.

"Right," I say. "Business. If you're sure the Moblins have been put down for good, then I need a good sized force moved into Hyrule Field."

"And then into a hot spring, naturally," Indiga notes with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug a shoulder apologetically at her. "No," I say. "Into the snow and the wind. You're looking for a portal, like the one here. It's still active, and with so many of the others shut down, the Moblins will be looking to make use of it. I want you to get there first and make every single one of them that steps out of it regret the day they were born."

"Highness," says one of the newer ladies.

Amplissa snorts. "Here we go," she says. I raise an eyebrow at her, but she just rolls her eyes.

"Why would we leave the desert when we've just secured it?" the new one says. Her cheeks darken at Amplissa's scorn, but she's stubborn. I know I've seen her face before, but I can't remember her name. "Our oaths are to protect _these_ lands. Not the Hylian lands."

I meet and hold her gaze for a long moment. Until she shifts uncomfortably and looks away. "There are no Hylian lands," I say finally. "There are no Goron lands. There are no Sheikah lands, no Zora lands, no Gerudo lands. None." She looks back up at me in surprise, and a few of the others do as well. "There is _Hyrule_. And to turn our back on that is to break our oaths, no matter how cleverly the argument is built. Twisting the words to suit your own purpose is beneath you." The words are harsh, but my tone is gentle. Amplissa starts to snort, but I turn a vicious glare on her and she chokes it back down. I turn back to the woman who asked the question and she meets me gaze evenly, despite the blush that's spread from her cheeks to the rest of her face and down her neck. "What's your name?"

"Nidiza," she says.

The name places her more firmly in my mind. "You were a green, weren't you?" I say. The fact that I remember her takes some of the sting out of my previous rebuke.

"Yes, highness," she says.

"Link, thanks," I correct her. Which is hopeless, _especially_ if she was a green, but I have to try. "Listen, a lot of you are new." I direct my gaze broader, taking in the whole group. "You don't know me well yet, but you will. I want you to speak your minds to me. Always. But I'm making it clear right here, and right now, that no matter what's happened in the past, the people of Hyrule are _not_ our enemies. And _we_ are people of Hyrule. Our protection extends to them."

Now Amplissa does snort. "They need it," she says. "They're like helpless baby keese, crawling around blind and crying for milk."

"Aye," says Nabooru. "They need it." She turns her gaze back to me. "What are you thinking? There's got to be more to this than just the portal."

The seriousness leaves my expression, and it melts back into something entirely too mischievous for anyone's good. "Castletown's been taken over by usurpers and Moblin mages," I say. "My father is running a rebellion as best he can, but he's only got a handful of people, and none of them real fighters. The Sheikah and Goron are still reeling from the attack on the Caverns. The Zora are still cleaning up Lake Hylia – it will take time, even with the portal closed. Nothing short of a miracle is going to clear those monsters out of the lake in time for them to come take Castletown back. And they're a different sort of force, besides. So it falls to us."

Nidiza shifts her weight and clears her throat. "I…heard what you said, highness. Link. Highness. But I…if the Hylians couldn't keep it, by what right do they deserve it?"

"Technically the Hylians still have it," Nabooru notes. "It's a civil war. The King means for us to choose a side."

"Which side?" Nidiza asked.

"His pretty little princess' side, of course," Indiga says.

"It's her throne," I say with a shrug. "Her father's dead," – and how am I going to tell her that? –"Zelda's Queen now, not Princess. It was treachery that sent her to the Dark World, treachery that killed her father, and treachery that sat a traitor on her throne. A traitor," I add significantly, "who handed me over to Agahnim and left me stranded in the Dark World."

"As a rabbit."

"Shut up, Amplissa."

"It does explain those giant pointy ears of yours."

"The grown ups are talking. Shut up."

"Fine," she said with a dramatic sigh. "So we'll form a rescue party and go save your pointy-eared friends from their own ineptitude." The others grumble in a disgruntled fashion, but voice no more arguments.

My half-smile turns into a full-blown grin, ear to ear, with as much violence as glee in it. "Now, now," I say smugly, "who said anything about _rescue_?"

As one the Gerudo turn to face me, startled. "If not…rescue…," Amplissa starts, then she gasps. Her eyes go as wide and enchanted as a kid's on Solstice, and she actually claps her hands over her mouth to hold in her surprise. It would be adorable if she didn't know forty-two ways to kill me where I sit. "No!" she says from behind her fingers. "Link! No! Seriously? Are you serious?"

"What?" says Nidiza. "What do you mean no rescue? I thought—"

"Kid," says Nabooru darkly, but there is a hint of excitement in her eyes, "you'd better not be getting our hopes up for nothing."

"Nidiza's right," I say. "The Hylians _couldn't_ keep the throne. And if we just walked in there and gave it back to them, they'd lose it again. Without Zelda there to keep them in line, and the Sheikah busy elsewhere, the civil war would continue unabated. And once we've taken out the Moblins, there's nothing to keep it from turning into an even bigger bloodbath. No. We absolutely cannot give the throne back to the Hylians. Not right now."

"And who, exactly, would we give it to?" Indiga asks, though it's clear by her face that she already knows the answer.

"Isn't it obvious?" I reply. "We're keeping it for ourselves."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Pathetic," sneered Eldrick, watching Brayden retreat from the planning room with his nephew in tow. The sudden appearance of two of his missing family members – and the news that his son was alive – had been more than the overwrought man could take. He was completely undone by his emotions. It was embarrassing.

"Hey, Eldrick," said a flat voice from immediately to his right. He turned to see who spoke, but the next instant something very hard slammed into his stomach and he was forced to double over as all the air left his lungs. "Watch who's in earshot when you decide to make snide comments. Idiot."

It took him a minute for his eyes to regain their focus, and when they did he became aware of the woman in front of him. It was not immediately obvious under all of the layers of winter clothing, but between the growing bruise on his stomach, the flash of a dark cheek beneath the scarf, and the hard, glittering, disdainful eyes he remembered better than he liked to admit, it wasn't hard to realize who he was talking to.

"It is a sad creature who takes advantage of a man who is in a bad spot," he said hoarsely as he straightened. He glared at her. "If things were as they should be, I would have you hauled off to jail for daring to strike me."

"If things were as they should be," she said sweetly, "there wouldn't be some poor horse out there wandering around without its backside. And if you think this is a bad spot, you just need perspective. Try spending a day where I just came from. I'll show you a bad spot."

"Yes, well," he said with a sneer, "better a sewer than out in the desert with the savage—oof!"

She hit him again. "I wasn't talking about the desert," she said, a dangerous edge to her voice. She threaded her dark fingers into his hair to hold him in place before he could straighten. Then, almost casually, brought her knee up into his face and sent him toppling over onto the ground, clutching at his bloodied nose and gasping.

"You are lucky," she said, voice very close to trembling with rage, "that the freckled little brat explained how much Brayden needs you, or I would kill you where you stand for that little stunt you pulled with Durnam." He opened his mouth to respond, but she grabbed the front of his jacket and dragged him to his feet before he could. The sudden motion caused him to gasp in pain, but she couldn't have cared less. She dragged his pretty, bloody face close enough to hers that she could have bitten him. She showed him all her teeth to make her point clear. "And I don't promise I won't when this is all over."

"You can't threaten me!" he growled, and tried to pull away.

But her grip was iron. She didn't respond verbally. Just reached out with her free hand to run her finger across his cheek, gathering some of the blood, then licked it off her finger. She shoved him away from her with a snort.

"Savage," he snarled, staggering back against the table. "Is that a message from your master?"

"I have no master," she retorted.

"Your King, then," he snapped. "Did he send you here to bully and threaten me?"

"No," she said flatly. "He would have told me to leave you alone. But I wanted to make sure things were clear between us. So, Lord Eldrick, are we clear?"

He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his face, trying to stem the flow of blood. "Crystal," he said icily. "Touch me again and I'll have you killed."

She laughed without responding, the sound hard and amused and altogether more painful than anything she'd done to him prior. "I do have a message from the King, though," she said, grinning viciously. "Hunter's probably giving it to Brayden now, but I made him swear I could be the one to tell you."

"Out with it," Eldrick snapped, "so I can be free of you, wretched woman."

"You'll get the military support you need," she said, and he didn't like the glint in her eye. "The Gerudo ride with the sun tomorrow. A small contingent will be sent here to deal with the Moblins and restore order in Castletown."

It burned him, but he drew himself up to his full height, and lowered the bloody handkerchief. "Fine," he snapped. "If we can't have _real_ soldiers, I suppose mercenaries will do."

"They're not mercenaries," Neesha said, her smile widening.

"Oh?" Eldrick replied, angered by whatever game she was playing. Something in her expression made him think of what Durnam had told him, the last time he'd spoken to the old fool. Something about who would conquer whom.

"They're an invading army," she clarified, clearly relishing the news. "And you're going to open the gates for them."

"Dorian! Your face!" Renaud gasped, coming into the room. He hurried past the Gerudo to his young master, grabbing his chin to look at the wound. But Eldrick didn't look at him, he kept his eyes fixed on the red-haired woman and hated every single thing about her until he was sure she would burst into flames from the heat of it.

But she didn't. She just laughed at him one last time, and then moved to join the rest of her foul family in the next room.

"Tsk," said Renaud, oblivious, or pretending to be, to what had transpired. "The nose is broken, Dorian. I'll do what I can to restore it, but it won't be what it was."

He clenched his hand around the bloodied kerchief and swore to himself that he would kill her. Whatever it took, he would destroy the wretch.

***

##  **Chapter 25 (cont.)**

"Right in the face," she says, for like the thousandth time. I shouldn't be encouraging her, I really shouldn't, but I'm honestly not tired of this story yet.

"Did you seriously break his nose?" I demand.

"I broke _something_ ," she says gleefully.

"Not that I'm saying he doesn't deserve it," Hunter notes, sitting as far away from us as possible because he'd rather not be associated right now, "but you understand we're going to pay for that later."

"No, I'm going to kill him later," Neesha corrects him.

Hunter gives her a dull look. "He was technically on your side in that whole mess, in case you've forgotten that inconvenient little detail."

"I'm sorry," she says acidly, "I didn't see _you_ putting on a dress and having to be leered at for the better part of an hour. This isn't about sides."

Hunter, wisely, steps out of the argument entirely.

"Did he cry?" I demand.

"He wanted to," she answers.

"What does this boy look like?" Amplissa asks curiously.

Hunter gives me a pleading look and I roll my eyes, but step in before this escalates. "Hey," I say, pointing at her, "you promised you'd keep things under control if I let you lead the invasion force."

"What, exactly, are you accusing me of?" she demands, raising an eyebrow. "I asked what he looks like, not what his weaknesses are. Haven't seen the little spitfire this excited over a broken nose since she busted Noni's when she was ten. I'd like to meet him."

"Noni had it coming," Neesha notes defensively. "She snitched. And you don't know what this jackass is like, okay? I've wanted to do that for _years_. And he finally gave me an excuse that _nobody_ —," here a significant look at Hunter, "—could fault me for. Guy sold me to my biggest enemy. I'm not joking about killing him later."

"Why didn't you kill him _then_?" Nabooru demands, prompting a scandalized look from Hunter.

"Hey!" I cut in again. "He's a jackass, but Dad needs him, all right? New rule, nobody kill anybody working for my Dad."

"Just a question, Highness," Nabooru says neutrally.

Neesha shrugs. "Like he said, Brayden needs him. If he lives through his stupid civil war, _then_ I'll kill him."

"Unusually strategic of you," Amplissa says, as neutral as Nabooru. Several flags go up in my brain and I frown suspiciously at them. Something's over my head here and I'm not sure I like it.

Neesha responds with vastly less neutrality. "I'm not an idiot," she snaps. "If I'd killed him that rebellion falls apart and there'd be no one to open the gates for you when you get there."

"Because we care so very much about locked doors here in the desert," Amplissa replies, her lips curled into an amused grin.

"Fifty," says Nabooru, before Neesha can respond.

"Fool's bet."

"Dates then."

"I'll arbitrate a pool," Indiga pipes up. "See me after to lay your wagers – Amplissa, make sure your team knows to find me before they leave."

"Wait, what are we betting on?" I demand. "And since when do _you_ arbitrate pools? Where's Aliza?"

"No Kings allowed," Indiga says flatly.

"What?! Why am I not allowed to bet?"

"Too much influence, you could sway the outcome."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Fine, then Hunter can lay a bet for me on whatever it is."

"I don't believe I know any women named Hunter," Indiga notes with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey!" Nabooru snaps at me. "Stop messing with the Arbiter! Not even in the pool and you're trying to cheat."

"I'm not cheating!"

"Just let it go, Highness."

"But what are you betting on?"

"Probably whether and when I kill Eldrick," Neesha says.

"I thought we just agreed not to kill Eldrick," I say. "I thought there was a rule about that now."

"Only for as long as he works for your Dad," Neesha reminds me cheerily.

"Who are we killing?" asks a mild – male – voice from the door. I turn and meet a pair of bright old eyes.

"Sahasrahla!" I say, getting to my feet. He holds out his hand to shake mine in greeting, but I drag him into a quick hug instead. I give him a hopeful look when I pull back. "We found your moon pearl, can I keep it? Please?"

" _I_ found your moon pearl," Neesha corrects me.

"You _stole_ his moon pearl," Hunter corrects her. " _And_ you were going to sell it."

"To buy you _solstice presents_ , why do I get no credit for this?"

Sahasrahla snorts. "I imagine you have far more need of it than I," he says. "Take as long as you wish, Hero."

"Where's Rue?" I ask. "I thought she was coming."

"Ah," says Sahasrahla, "well, it seems our mutual apprentice – I believe he's a friend of yours, Thomas of the Sheikah – felt the need to sit this one out." He shoots a sidelong glance at Hunter, who politely ignores it. "I believe she took issue with the fact that he thought he could simply sit anything out here at the Fortress, and so resolved to ensure his time was used productively, whether he came here or not. She does, however, wish to speak with you, Link, before you leave the Fortress. To, ah, update you. On certain events since you have left."

That sobers me up quickly. I cast a glance at Amplissa, but she won't meet my eyes.

Oh. That's why Indiga is arbitrating the betting pool instead of Aliza.

Oh.

"Right," I say, the wind gone from my sails in a heartbeat. "Sure. I'll go find her when we're done here." I gesture for him to take a seat at the table and then reclaim my own. "Did anyone fill you in?" Please, oh please let them have filled him in. I don't have it in me to tell the whole story again.

"Highlights," he says with a wry grin. "I think I've got the gist of it. They…mentioned you met Anduriel…."

"Yeah," I say. "I'm sure she would have asked me to say hi if she'd known I was coming back, but…this whole side trip to Hyrule was more or less unscheduled."

"I saw her, at one point, when we scried the mirror." His face is sad, his eyes distant. "The transition has not been kind to her."

"She's in rough shape," I confirm, "but she's hanging in there. Saved my butt more than once and probably will again before all is said and done." I hesitate. "The others, though…Ganon's got them. They're not…what they were."

"No," he says heavily, "I don't imagine they would be. They're tied too tightly to that realm. What it is, they are."

"Do you know anything about the others?" Hunter asks. "I know some of the lore, but I only know some of the names, and it's not always clear which they're talking about. It might…if we're going to have to fight the others, it would help to know something about them before we get in there. Avoid a repeat of some of our previous mistakes."

"We've met Sirana and Nobernal," I add. "Those were the names they used."

"Why don't we just ask your sentinel friend?" Neesha demands. "She would know them better than some old geezer who's lived his whole life in a cave."

"Neesha!" Hunter says, annoyed. He turns to Sahasrahla. "I'm sorry," he says, "she clearly wasn't socialized properly as a child."

"I'd rather not ask for Anduriel's advice in how best to murder her siblings," I tell her with a frown. "It hurts her bad enough that it's required, there's no need to beat her over the head with it if we can get the info elsewhere."

"Fine," Neesha says, crossing her arms and slouching. "Then you may as well give him all the details. By 'met' those avatars, he means killed." Which is just so helpful of her given that she wasn't there for either of them.

"Killed!" Sahasrahla exclaims, and somehow grows even sadder. It's another moment before he stirs again, but none of us interrupt his thoughts. Guilt and regret gnaws at my gut, but looking back I can't think of anything else I could have done.

At last he shakes himself and returns to the present conversation. "Sirana was the fifth of them," he says. "Lore associates her with strength of arms and feats of war. Also, sometimes, retribution. I shudder to think how Ganon's wish must have twisted her."

"She…it was not…an easy fight," I manage. "And I didn't do it…entirely under my own control."

He waves at me to say that details are not required, and I nod gratefully at him. "Nobernal was the youngest," he continues. "In the stories she symbolizes creativity and love. Art, especially music. The tales say she liked to sing." Hunter and I exchange a look, eyebrows raised.

"Wow," Hunter says. "He must have—." But he cuts himself off and we're all glad of it I think.

"Anduriel you know. If you wish to think of the Sentinels as creatures that were born, she would be the middle child, and a balance for them all. Lore associates her with healing and mercy. Redemption, reconciliation, renewal.

"The eldest is Revanas. Not much is known about her, except that she is an oracle. In the stories she is often cast in the role of the omnipotent narrator, or the background manipulator. She pushes and pulls at events as the moon pushes and pulls the tides, keeping things in line with the Goddesses' plans."

"Oh goody," Neesha groans. "Another prophet. Because Zelda wasn't bad enough."

"At least Zelda's on our side," Hunter replies, rubbing his temple wearily as he considers that.

"Third is the Chronicler. The earliest records I can recall noted her name as Mudora. Concerned only with what has been, the Chronicler does not interfere in events or the world. Merely records all of it in her histories. The stories are unclear as to why."

"There's a legend among the Sheikah that our language was given to us by Mudora," Hunter notes, contemplative. "We were historians before we were warriors."

"Warriors," says Amplissa. "Pffft."

Compared to the abuse he's received from the Dark World Gerudo, that was nothing, and it slides off his back like water off a Zora's. Amplissa, I can't help but notice, is irked by his lack of a reaction.

"The last two," Sahasrahla continues, "are less well known. Second in the line is Valdyx, associated with death and the afterlife, and the transition between the two. Sixth is Khol, associated with magic – arcane _and_ divine. Supposedly had a fondness for puzzles."

"Farore," I mutter, "I don't know what's worse. Corrupted death angel, or corrupted puzzle angel."

"Death angel!" Hunter says incredulously.

"Puzzle angel," Neesha contradicts him immediately.

"There is one other," Sahasrahla says before it can devolve into an argument.

Hunter blinks and does a quick count of the names Sahasrahla mentioned. "I thought there were only seven."

"Eight," I say, and point at the sword on my back. "Apparently the Master Sword is a person. Sort of."

Hunter looks thoughtful. "That explains how you got pulled down into the _Quisrol_ ," he says. "Dune called on the stone guardians, but the word that's used for that spell is _makan_. It's the word _Makani_ comes from. It's not just, like, a city guard or something. It's a holy thing. Ties to the goddesses and sacred oaths, and the like. If the Master Sword is a _Makani_ , it could have responded to the magic behind the guardians."

"The sentinel's original name has been lost," Sahasrahla says. "We only know the names of the sword now. But the lore associates it with both protection and judgement. It is a balancing force, but more active than Anduriel. And more intimate with the world and its fate than any of its siblings. It pains me that…." He trails off, rethinks his words. "I am sorry that it has come to this. Sentinel killing Sentinel. But what must be must be. That sword is your best weapon, perhaps your only weapon, against the others, Link. But be aware of the bond between them. It is no small thing you ask of it."

"If there were any other way, I would take it," I tell him seriously. "If I thought I could heal them, or restore them I would. But I can't." I glance down at my hand, at the Triforce mark on the back of it. "I'm not strong enough."

"I think it knows that, Link," Hunter says gently. "It wasn't you that killed Nobernal, not really. It did. It had to. You saw her. We were a far cry from creativity and music. Nobernal wasn't…she didn't…she thanked you, in the end."

"Yeah," I say. "I know."

"Why in the name of the Three do you want to go back there again?" Amplissa demands.

"Which brings us neatly around to our second question," I say, grateful for the unintentional change of topic. "The mirror brought us here when Neesha oh so gently caused me to place the pearl into the mirror." I pull the reunited artefacts from my bag to show him, careful not to look at the reflection in the glass. "How do we make it take us back?"

"It will have left a portal," he says. "Looks like the barest of shimmering in the air in the spot where you teleported in. Like a heat wave, almost. Anyone who meets the criteria put into the seals by the Sages can use it. Once the mirror passes through the portal closes again."

My mind immediately runs off on the hundreds of irresponsible ways I could use that ability when Hunter asks an actually intelligent question. "How do we make sure we're popping into Hyrule in open space, instead of, say, fifty-feet thick of mountain? Or half in this room, half in the other?"

My head snaps up and I blanch. I hadn't even considered that possibility. I give Neesha the dirtiest look I can muster and she looks away quickly.

Lucky, we are soooo lucky.

"The mirror will show you your surroundings as they exist in the other world," Sahasrahla says. "Look past your own reflection to the area behind you." I give him a suspicious, hesitant look, and slowly lift the mirror, careful to angle it away from my face. It occurs to me he's correct. The reflection isn't right. Instead of the walls of the Fortress I see an endless expanse of driving grey rain, and faded, tired vegetation that wishes it would just drown already. Vaguely, in the far distance, I can just make out the shapes of what is likely the Gerudo camp.

"That is…oh my Goddess," says Hunter. Now _he's_ running off on irresponsible uses for the mirror. "You could…we could see—!"

"There is a reason," Sahasrahla notes neutrally, "I did not entrust it to the Sheikah as a group." He winks at Hunter to dull any sting. "It was a gift to me from a friend, it was never intended for espionage or intrigue."

"It won't be used for it," I say, catching the hint. I ignore the sound Hunter makes behind me. Half shame, half pain. I stuff it back into my pouch before he gets any ideas. "We travel back to Hyrule by putting the pearl into the socket?"

"Pearl in socket," Sahasrahla says, "hand on glass."

"The pearl protects against the Dark World effects?" Neesha asks.

"Aye, and the mirror bridges the gap. You can't leave the Dark World while in its grip, so both are required."

The thought of not having to wake up in that burlap sack every morning is almost too much for me. I turn away from the others before they can see just how overwhelming my relief is. Between the pearl taking care of my transformations, having our third partner back, and now a ticket home when we need it…it's like the three biggest logistical problems to this entire misadventure have been solved in one fell swoop.

With Neesha back, and me not spending the night as a rabbit, it means we can take turns keeping watch and maybe actually get some sleep. It means being able travel farther in a day, and being able to escape trouble easier. It means being able to get the maidens _out_ of the Dark World as soon as we've got our hands on them.

It means we've got _hope_ , which is a damn sight more than we had before.

Sahasrahla, the only one who can see my face right now, offers me a sympathetic smile.

"Right," says Nabooru, "so, I'm pretty sure I already know the answer, and I don't disagree, but I need to pretend to have this fight with you so the other Sages don't rip my head off. The Sheikah and the Disgraced One Who Is Totally Looking At a Demotion can't go back with you. We'd just be handing them right into Ganon's hands, and then the portals would be reopened and we'd be back to square one."

Hunter tenses and Neesha straightens, but I just turn back to her and let her see the last few weeks in my eyes, and my face, and the line of my shoulders. "I can't do it by myself," I say. "I literally can't. I will try, and I will die, and I won't even care when it happens. They're the only people we have, right now, who can cross the seals with me. I need them more than we need to keep them out of Ganon's reach."

"All right," she says, getting to her feet. "If anyone asks I kicked your ass around the courtyard over it. I'm going to go report in to the Sages. Go find Rue and get her update. And make sure you're still here when I get back." She shakes her fist at me threateningly, knowing full well I won't be. I reply with a rude gesture at her. "Neesha," she says, turning to look at her with burning eyes. "I haven't forgotten your little stunt before this all went south. You've got a reprieve until the maidens are all returned, but if you're smart you'll make sure you die heroically in the Dark World, because you don't want to know what I'm going to do to you when you get back for good."

Neesha's expression is dark and angry, but she slides further down in her chair instead of responding, which is probably the wisest thing she could do.

Nabooru snorts and teleports out with a flash.

Neesha looks over at Amplissa. "Did she mean that about demotion?"

"A-yup," Amplissa replies. "Been ranting about it since you left. I get why you did it, kid, and I can't say I blame you, but there are consequences. You'll never make the White you keep pulling stunts like that."

The word 'kid' hits her like a punch in the gut – harder to swallow than the threat of demotion. She slinks even further down in her chair, her expression growing darker.

I give Hunter a look that's part apologetic, part relieved, and he gives me a dirty one in return. It's not often Neesha gets like this, but it's a nightmare to try to bring her out of it. And I've got the get out of jail free card of having to go talk to Rue.

Not that anything's actually free. And not that this is going to be an easier conversation.

"I'll walk with you," says Amplissa, getting to her feet.

"Good luck," says Sahasrahla as we leave, "with this conversation and everything that comes after."

"She'll be in the training rooms," Amplissa says. "Making the Sheikah boy run or jump or climb something until he passes out."

"I thought he was training to be a mage, not join the Elite," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"I duelled one of Rue's old apprentices once," Amplissa says. "Before you came. Closed the distance and caught her in the chin with a right hook before she was done casting. One hit knock-out. Magic doesn't mean anything in real combat if your body can't keep up. Besides, you don't come to Gerudo Fortress to learn magic sitting at a desk and taking a bunch of notes like a pasty-faced Sheikah. Wouldn't happen even in peace time, and we're a long way from peace time."

"Why did you duel one of Rue's apprentices?" I demand.

Her face loses some of its expressiveness, her mouth stiffens, her eyes grow guarded. I've hit a nerve. "Aliza had a bad fall from a horse the day before, broke her leg. Stupid girl said some things she shouldn't have about it. Aliza was laid up, so I appointed myself her second and made my point." Her expression hardens further as she drives her emotions down with grim determination. "That was basically the point we started fighting together."

I nod but don't say anything, because what could I say?

We continue our walk in silence until we reach the doors to the training room. Amplissa draws in a deep breath. "You would have been proud of her," she says. "That's all. Rue will give you the details. She saved a lot of people. We wouldn't have made it out without her."

"She died a Gerudo's death," I say thickly. "Lived a Gerudo's life too. For her sisters in both cases." Somehow the confirmation is worse than the near-certainty was.

"Is she…is she still…dying a Gerudo's death?" Amplissa asks. "Like the Sheikah's mother?"

The question pushes the breath from my lungs as I consider it. I want to lie to her. I want to lie to her so bad. But I can't. That would be worse, more offensive. It would hurt more than the truth. "Probably," I say. A hundred little white lies, meant to soften the blow spring to mind. She's not really aware of it. She doesn't really feel anything. It's not really her. But to deny the reality of the situation is to disrespect all involved. I put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it tightly. "But I'm going to fix it," I promise her. "Her oaths are fulfilled, she's earned her rest, and she'll have it. I'll find a way."

Amplissa nods, then bows quickly. More to hide her face than anything I think. "If there's anything I can do from this side, just say the word," she says fiercely. "I'll make it happen."

"I'll hold you to it," I tell her, managing a smile that's almost half genuine. She offers me the same, then gestures at the door.

"Rue's waiting in there," she says. "If you're planning to leave before Nabooru gets back, Indiga will arrange the escort to your portal. I've got to go gather my invading army."

"Remember," I say, raising a stern finger at her, "I want Castletown intact when I get back! Oh! And can you ask Nidiza to come find me when I'm done here? I've got a job for her specifically when she gets there."

Amplissa balks. "I wasn't planning on taking her," she says flatly. "She's obnoxious."

"So are you," I reply with a shrug. "And I need her to do something for me, so you have to take her."

"What do you need her to do?" she demands. "I'll do it!"

"Okay," I say, raising an eyebrow. "I need you to go into the third or fourth library, somewhere around the second mile of legal tomes, give or take, and go through some centuries old Hylian legislation to find—."

"Never mind," she says, waving me off with a dull look. "You should have told me you were going to torture her, I'd've agreed right away. If I don't see you again, Highness, good luck. If you happen to find his Ex-Royal Highness tear him to pieces for me."

"No," I say. "I'll tear him to pieces all for me. No sharing."

"Selfish."

"Uncaring too."

She grins and waves and is gone.

I hold on to my own grin for as long as I can, then take a deep breath and turn to enter the training room. Thomas is already gone, likely sent away when Rue heard us talking. It's just her, seated cross-legged in the middle of the floor. Like no grandmother anyone has ever imagined, and yet the very picture of one I have in my head.

"Welcome home, Link," she says gravely. "Have a seat."

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

It wasn't, precisely, that Impa was in a bad mood. Though the discussions had been lively for much of the council meeting, they had been nonetheless productive. And despite recent losses and tragedies, certain victories had been scored that rendered the way forward clearer for all. All good news. But she couldn't shake the feeling that this was a temporary lull.

Impa knew war. Knew war as well as one might know one's oldest friend. And she knew this war was not over; it was catching its breath.

_Perhaps,_ she thought, without any sort of optimism, _I am just tired._

And she was. The binding the Moblins had caught her with had taken its toll. She needed to sleep, but it was hard to justify with so much work left to be done. It was no simple thing to close down the Caverns, and more complicated still to reopen them again. Kakariko was a smoking ruin, and many of its people homeless and mourning. And there were still Moblins lurking and plotting in the mountains, whether or not the portal was closed.

To say nothing of what might or might not be happening in Castletown. She trusted Link's instincts, but instincts weren't always enough, and the boy was reckless and impatient. As were his people. And whatever he was planning, it wasn't like he was going to be here to execute.

Nabooru had been stone-lipped at the meeting about whatever orders he'd given them. She trusted Nabooru as well, but like Link she could not be there constantly. And there was still so much bad blood between the Hylians and the Gerudo. Exacerbated by Agahnim's actions prior to his death. And no longer a treaty in place to constrain their actions.

She paused in the Shadow Temple's exit and steepled her fingers tightly against the bridge of her nose, trying to drive her headache back.

"You should probably just go to bed, Impa," said a not-unsurprising voice from the sunny afternoon outside. "You look like crap."

She lowered her hands and offered the Hero of Time a dull look as she stepped out into the sun. He leaned casually up against the fence on the opposite side of the dais of shadow. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you were foolish enough to bring Hunter and Neesha with you."

"I do a lot of foolish things," he said with a grin that was as tired as she felt, "but that's not on the list."

"Where are they?"

"Scouring the desert for 'the barest shimmering, like a heat wave' that is actually a portal. They're going to be at it a while, I imagine."

"So you really intend to go back."

"People need to stop asking me that," he said with a frown. "Because I'm no happier about the answer than they are, and none of us can afford for me to change to my mind."

Impa offered him a nod to acknowledge the point. "The boy?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Left him with Marni," Link answered. "She'll watch him until Castletown's stabilized, and then I'm hoping Dad will take him. He's not…actually Kokiri anymore. He's just a regular kid like anyone else."

"If your father will not take him, I will find someone who will," Impa promised. "The Deku Tree shielded one of ours at significant cost to himself. The Sheikah will repay the debt."

"Glad to hear it," he said, amused, "because I don't think he'd thrive in the desert."

"You are not here to discuss that, though."

"No," he said, sobering again. "I'm not. I left out some details in my recap earlier, but I'd like to share them now if you've got the time."

Impa frowned. "Why leave them out before?"

"Because there was a crowd," he answered carefully. "And the details are more personal. Your ears only, unless you choose to share sort of thing."

"I appreciate your discretion all the more for its rarity," she noted. She moved over to the snow-dusted dais and folded her legs underneath herself, then gestured for him to do the same opposite her. "I don't have the time, but I doubt I will have another chance in the near future to hear you out."

The Hero took a seat opposite her. "Remember the part about Dark World Kakariko?" he asked. "The Cleric and the Thieves? The doppelganger?"

"Yes," she replied, unsurprised that this was the portion of the tale he wished to discuss. That the doppelganger was – or had been – a Sheikah was never in doubt. They had lost many to the Dark World, the only question was which had—

"It was Blind," he said. "Dashil, I think was his real name. But he went by Blind."

Her heart froze suddenly in her chest – not surprise, not even close, but disappointment and regret and a mix of other things too personal to name. "Hmm," she said carefully. "I see."

"I don't…you've already got most of the rest of the details, I'm sure you can put most of it together yourself. He…was concerned about what I would tell you. The Dark World has a way of blurring memories, taking them or twisting them, but whatever he remembered of you, he cared pretty deeply about it. Probably the only thing he cared about."

Impa said nothing for a long moment. It really wasn't hard to put things together. He had gone to the Dark World seeking an easy answer, hoping to beat the enemy to it. He had failed. And could no longer get home again. All the years she'd known him, he had chafed at the thought of home. Never wanted to return to the Caverns after a mission. But she knew him better than that. Once he realized he was cut off, that he could _never_ go back….

Had he joined the Makani because it was a Makani and any proper Sheikah would?

Or had he joined the Makani because it was corrupted and he was self-destructive and spiteful?

"He was ashamed," Impa said slowly, "of how far he'd fallen."

It wasn't exactly a question, but he answered it anyway. "Yes. I think so. Based on what Hunter said, he redeemed himself at the end, though. Sacrificed himself to save Hunter. From, uh. From me." The Hero looked away, shame darkening cheeks already red from the chill. "I'm the one who…I killed him. I didn't want to, I tried to avoid it, but I was…I wasn't fast enough with the Makani. I changed, and…that was that." He swallowed thickly, but managed to turn his startling eyes back to hers. "I'm sorry, Impa."

"You are not to blame for actions committed under the sway of your Dark World form," she responded automatically. "You said specifically that you did not kill him when he tried to goad you into it as a man. If that was a test, you passed it." She managed through a supreme effort of will not to avert her own gaze. "As for Dashil, he had already set himself on the path that led him to this long before he'd set foot in the Dark World. I am...glad he remembered himself, at the end." She was relieved that her voice remained strong, steady. No hint of how much it hurt to say his name, or to think of him in the state he must have been in by the end.

Did she wish she had been there?

No. She supposed she was glad she had not been.

"Yeah, well," said Link, "he was kind of a jerk. I didn't really like him. But…I'm still sorry."

She offered him a ghost of a smile. "I doubt he liked you much either."

"Hated my guts," the young man confirmed.

Not as much as he hated himself, though. That she didn't need to be told. "Thank you, Link," she said. "I appreciate you not sharing this with the others. You were correct, and it is personal."

He nodded and got to his feet, recognizing the dismissal. "Don't know when I'll be back," he said. "Take care of yourself, Impa."

"You too, boy," she replied. "Watch your back in there."

"Hard lessons already learned." He pulled his Ocarina from his pouch and a few notes later he was gone.

Impa got to her feet and turned back to the Shadow Temple. The relentless winter sun was too bright, too reminiscent of the bottle she'd been trapped in. She suddenly didn't have the energy to deal with it. Or with the unexpected death of a hope she hadn't fully realized she'd been harbouring.

"Goodbye, Dashil," she said as she crossed the threshold into the comforting darkness of the Shadow Temple. "One last time, goodbye."

Sleep suddenly seemed like a good idea.

***

##  **Chapter 25 (cont.)**

It is amazing how far an escort of heavily armed wolf-women and a map can get you in the Dark World. A little under three days travel, and not a single bandit, murderer, or similar flavour of trouble-maker bothered to waylay us. There were a couple, here and there, we could see lurking in our wake, but none of them were able to gather up the courage to attack.

Which I'm actually kind of happy about. Without the Beast snarling away in my chest, I'm not nearly so eager for blood. Had enough of that to last a lifetime.

"Are you sure about this?" Apheri asks me for about the thousandth time. She eyes the tortured Orchard in the valley below us suspiciously.

"Yes," I tell her. "As useful as it has been having you guys around, we'll leave less of a trail on our own. And you're more useful at Kakariko."

"Remind me again why we care about Kakariko," Anahti says dully, looking bored already.

"Because you've been cooped up in that Mire for too long, and you can't tell me hunting's been good. You guys must have taken out anything that was even remotely a challenge a decade ago. You're not Ganon's anymore, so what's to stop you from taking on the next biggest challenge, hmm? Plenty of big, dangerous, well armed Moblins in Kakariko, and plenty of slightly unhinged, well-armed explosives enthusiasts to back you up. Trust me. You're going to love it. Apheri, you ask for Duthie and work with him. Anahti, you ask for Wandi, and just try not to kill anyone on our side, okay?"

"And then what?" Apheri asks.

"And then tear every Moblin in the region to pieces. If you run out of Moblins there, head on to the next region and repeat. Sooner or later I'm going to call for you. And that's when the real fighting is going to start, all right?"

Apheri has no problems with the plan, but she glances at Anahti, who has a problem with everything. The latter raises an eyebrow. "This 'real fighting'. Whose definition of 'real' are you using?"

"Gerudo," I answer immediately.

"Fine," she says. "I'm in for now."

Hunter gives Apheri a look, like, 'good luck with that.'

_I know you keep saying you're sure, but are you really sure?_ Zelda asks me. I can hear a frown in her voice. _An army of Gerudo might not be a bad thing to have right now._

_I'm glad you feel that way, because I might have maybe sent one into Castletown to take it over and have been looking for an opportunity to tell you that._

_Sorry, Link,_ she replies with a sigh, _I'm still not really hearing you when you reply mentally. What did you say?_

"I said yes I'm sure." I tap my head to let the others know who I'm talking to.

_That's all you said? It seemed longer than that._

_I also propositioned you in an extremely improper fashion._

She scoffs. _I didn't get all the words, but I got the intention there. I also don't believe you._

_Would you_ like _me to improperly proposition you?_

_Oh! I heard that!_ she says. _You're getting better! And for the record, you've never once_ properly _propositioned me. Which might explain some things._

_Ow, Zelda. Low blow._

"Do you want us to escort you down into the Orchard?" Apheri asks. "It's not exactly safe."

"It'll be safe for us," I answer. "And we've already got an escort, but I don't think she'll show if I bring a fighting force in with me."

"All right," she says. "Then I suppose this is where we part ways. Don't take too long to call for us, all right? You're right. We've been in the Mire for too long, and we could all use a real fight."

We take our leave of each other. The Gerudo turn back the way they came, and Hunter, Neesha and I head down into the Orchard.

"This is messed up," Neesha says, eyeing the twisted trees with an expression of mixed disgust and horror. "Ganon did this?"

"The one and only," I confirm darkly.

Hunter is quiet, taking in the surroundings and cataloguing I don't even know what about them. Threats, escape routes, hiding places. Or maybe just being respectful of the gross tragedy this whole place is.

"So where is this Avatar of yours?" Neesha asks curiously. I have to keep reminding myself she technically hasn't seen any of them before.

"She's probably—." But I'm cut off by a shrill cry.

"Unk-ink! Unk-ink!" A little blue blur of excitement and glee comes tottering between the trees, arms outstretched and a huge smile plastered over her face.

"Hey there, squirt!" I say, and drop to one knee to hold my arms out for her. I scoop her up when she arrives and get back to my feet. Coming up behind her is Anduriel, moving slower than I remember, her face a little more drawn, her wings a little more tattered. Kiki sits in his apparently customary place on her shoulder.

"Anduriel," I say. "I'm glad to see you're okay."

"You as well, Hero," she says, gracefully inclining her head to me. Her eyes move over to the others, and I shift my grip on Laruto so I can gesture to them. "This is Hunter of the Sheikah, and Neesha of the Gerudo. Two of my closest friends. Guys, this is Anduriel of the Sentinels."

Neesha gives her a deep nod, one fist clenched over her heart. It's the gravest and most respectful gesture I've ever seen her give anyone. Hunter drops to one knee and bows his head.

" _Mel varasin lodanan tol, Makani. Toln secre quis meln est._ "

_I serve before you, Guardian,_ Zelda translates for me. _Or I am your servant. Something like that. Your sacred quest is mine. Or oaths or mission or something. Quis has a lot of nuances._

Anduriel smiles at him. " _Escal, Sheikah. Toln quis est meln. Mel est tol belani."_

_Rise, Sheikah. I think Sheikah might actually mean shadow here, not sure. Your quest is mine. I welcome you. You plural? I'm not sure._

_You got more than I did._

_You don't study enough._

"It is nice to hear the old tongue again," Anduriel says with a gentle smile as Hunter climbs to his feet. He is more than pleased with this. Anduriel turns to me and her smile turns wry. "The Seventh Sage is welcome as well, if you will pass on my message. As are you, young Geru'do."

Neesha shifts her weight awkwardly and nods, unsure of the protocol under the circumstances. That she is thinking about protocol at all is a testament to how much the Avatars mean to the Gerudo. She's already on thin ice with Nabooru, the last thing she wants to do is add 'offending the sacred warriors who fought with Geru' to the list.

"Kiki!" says Kiki angrily. "You is forgettings Kiki!"

I offer him a smile that's all teeth. "Was trying to."

"Kiki," says Anduriel neutrally, "this is Hunter and Neesha, friends of Link and so friends of ours. I believe there is another who observes without being present."

"Zelda," I clarify.

"Zelda, then. Hunter, Neesha, Zelda, this is Kiki, who has been a very good friend to me in these troubling times."

"Kikiki!" says Laruto gleefully. "Blue!"

"PURPLES!" Kiki practically screams at her, clearly at the end of his rope.

"Walk with me," Anduriel says, interrupting the fight with an ease born of practice. "I'm sure you have much to tell and it is unwise to stay in one place while you tell it."

"Is everything okay?" I ask as we start to move. "I thought—."

"Just a bad spell," she interrupts me. "I overestimated certain things, and underestimated others, but it is nothing to worry about. It necessitates extra precaution, but there is no immediate danger. Still," she adds, "it is good you have found the moon pearl. I would not want the little one to remain in this place for much longer."

I give her a concerned look, but she's clearly not interested in talking about it, so I accept the change in subject. "We did," I confirm. "And we've had one unexpected jaunt back to Hyrule already. Sahasrahla sends his regards, by the way."

A warm smile flickers briefly over her face. "The pearl will also shield you from your Beast self," she says, "though I expect you've determined that already. Keep it with you, Link. And keep your friends close. It can protect them to an extent from the weight of the Dark World as long as they are near."

"Believe me," I tell her darkly, "I have no intentions of ever letting it go."

"I will spare you," she says quietly, "the retelling of Nobernal and Sirana's deaths. I sensed their passing when it happened, and I'm not sure I…." Her voice trails off and she doesn't finish the thought.

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. So she does know.

"Whatever forgiveness you feel you need you have," she says after a moment. "I wish with all my heart it could be another way, but it cannot. Beware the others, all of you. They will have sensed it as well and they are not used to fear or grief. Not like I am. They will harbour no kind feelings for you."

_Ask her about Revanas,_ Zelda says. _Revanas is upset, sure, but I don't think she actually blames you for her siblings' deaths either._

"Zelda says Revanas – that's who's got her crystal – doesn't blame us."

"Revanas," says Anduriel, surprised. Her milky eyes grow distant. "You say she holds a Triforce carrier. Why would he give her…?" Her lips tighten into a frown. "Be careful with Revanas," she says. "She is the eldest of us, and the wisest. If any could resist…but no. You cannot trust her. Perhaps she maintains enough of her heart to know the truth of what she is, but she is bound as surely as the others, and cannot defy him. She will kill you, given the chance."

"Noted," I say. "As far as a status, then, we've got three of seven maidens freed, and one able to communicate with us, which will help as far as locating and freeing her, and now we've got a way to bring them home. Three portals closed, and enough of a reprieve back home that Hyrule can redistribute its forces and hold the line at the remaining portals. The battles have cost us dearly, but for the first time things are looking up."

"You're such a jinx," Neesha hisses.

_Seriously_.

"Shut up, both of you," I snap. "Can you let me have this please?"

"Celebrate what victories you can," Anduriel says with a small smile, "but don't get overconfident. The war is not won yet."

"Blue!" says Laruto helpfully.

"Purples! Kiki is being purples! Ki! Ki! Is not being complicated!"

"Who's my Queen of Colours?" I coo at the baby. "Who is?! You are! Yay!"

She claps her hands delightedly and Kiki promptly moves over to the shoulder farthest from me, grumbling the entire way.

Hunter steps in, horrified that I am ignoring the generally more important conversation with the personification of everything a Sheikah is supposed to be about the fate of the world, in favour of engaging in three-year-old behaviour with children and child-like monkeys. "After some…negotiating…sort of…we've brought the Dark World Gerudo over to our side. They're on their way to Kakariko to join up with our allies there and help them push the Moblins out. In the event we need to bring in the heavy artillery, we'll have a standing army ready to take up the fight. Any other allies we make can be sent along to join them."

"Rag-tag band of freaks, more like," Neesha notes sourly. "Whatever alliance we've managed to pull out of our collective ass is temporary. It'll fall apart faster than you'd think if we don't keep them busy. That real fighting Link promised them is going to have to happen sooner rather than later. I don't think we can count on them."

"It's better than nothing," I point out. "Worst case scenario they put a dent in the Moblin population before they scatter in a hundred different directions and we're still one up from where we were before."

Neesha shrugs and nods because fair enough.

"Here," says Anduriel and comes to a stop. "I believe this spot should be sufficient for your travel back, though my sense of the layout of Hyrule is not what it once was, I admit."

I set Laruto on the ground and pull the mirror out of my pouch. I lift it nervously and turn it so I can avoid my own reflection. It's honestly hard to see anything in the clear glass. It's snowing hard enough there must be a blizzard, but it looks like some kind of rampart.

"A watch tower?" Hunter suggests.

"Must be."

"Whatever it is, it better than jumping into a frozen lake," Neesha says flatly, "so it's got my vote."

I twist the mirror to try to get a better sense of the surroundings, but the world is a frozen landscape of white. If there are landmarks, they're obscured. Hunter pulls out the map – I am no longer allowed to hold it – and considers it. "We're definitely Lake Hylia," he says. "Ultimately wherever we come out the Zora should be able to get us. Worse come to worst, if we don't land in their midst, we just sit tight until they can come find us. As long as we don't go in the water, the Dark Zora won't know we're there and can't come get us anyway."

"What if it's the Tower of Farore?" I ask. "And not a watch tower?"

Hunter frowns doubtfully. "Maybe we should just wait out the blizzard here."

But Anduriel gasps and straightens. "No," she says.

I turn to look. "What? What is it?"

"You have to go." The urgency and alarm in her voice startles and frightens me. "Take the little girl."

"Anduriel, what's—?"

"Revanas!" she says. "Revanas has entered my realm. She is coming, you have to go."

Zelda immediately withdraws from my head, but she's not gone long. She comes rushing back in two seconds later. _She's right! We're in the orchard! South of you! Link, we're moving really fast! We'll be on top of you in less than a minute!_

"Wait," I say, "no, this is our chance to get Zelda back."

"No." There is more authority in Anduriel's voice than I've ever heard her use before. "You cannot risk the little girl. Link, Revanas knows you're here. She knows and she comes anyway. She is ready for you. You have to take the little one and get out. Get at least one of the maidens beyond Ganondorf's reach. If you stay…if you fight…there is no guarantee you will win. None at all. And I do not think I am strong enough to defend her from Revanas, or those who would come after. Without you she is trapped here."

"Link," says Hunter, and lays a hand on my shoulder. "She's right. We have to go."

_Link, go,_ Zelda says. _Get Laruto out. You'll have another chance._

"Farore," I hiss, and snatch Laruto up again. I hand the mirror to Hunter so I can fish around in my pouch for the pearl. "I swear to all three Goddesses I'm going to—!"

"She's here!" Anduriel cries, spinning to look at something behind us.

My head snaps up in time to see a gout of flame leaping from between the tortured trees, but not in time for me to dodge it. Thank the Goddesses that Hunter and Neesha were paying more attention than I was. They both shove me as they leap out of the path of the fire and we fall to the side in a tangle. Laruto starts to cry.

"Go!" Anduriel snarls, and races toward the source of the flame. "Go now!"

I've got the pearl in my hand, and I can see a sudden glow between the trees again. "Hunter!" but he's already shoved the mirror at me. I don't even spare the time to look. I drive the pearl into place and flatten my hand on the glass. Reality tears around us, and all four of us fall through. I can feel the heat of the flames as they sear through the space where we'd been, but then it's gone and replaced by a bone-numbing cold, and the realization that our trajectory is not quite what we thought it was going to be.

The parapets are there, but they weren't a watch tower – it _was_ the Tower of Farore. And, more importantly, we aren't landing on them. In fact, we're several feet away from them, in the wrong direction. We've re-entered Hyrule in open space and are now plummeting down toward the frozen lake.

I have just enough time to curl myself into a ball around Laruto when we hit the ice and it shatters under us like glass.

If I thought it was cold in the air, it was a balmy vacation in tropical paradise compared to the water. Hitting the ice drove all the air from my lungs, and between that and the shock of the water my muscles seize and a sudden, instinctive terror sets in.

I just barely register Hunter, struggling to move in the water – he's trying to get to Neesha, I think, she's thrashing somewhere behind him. She can't even swim, and there's no way she's ever felt anything this cold before. But he's not going to make it, not before the cold drains him.

Laruto wraps her hands in my tunic, gives me a terrified look. She doesn't understand that we aren't Zora, we can't breathe underwater or swim with our gear all soaked and dragging us down.

She doesn't know what drowning is.

And I am so, so sorry that I'm going to be the one to show her.

***

##  **A Brief Interlude**

She sensed it, the instant they were gone, and she gave up the charade. Her step faltered, and she stumbled to a stop against a tree trunk, panting hard.

"Kiki," she managed, choking on the smoke. "Kiki run."

"Ki! Ki!" said the monkey guiltily, but he did as he was told and went.

Over the crackling sound of the fire and the groaning of the trees, she could hear the sound of cloth against leather as her sister slid from her saddle and moved out of the shadows and into the flickering firelight. Revanas stared at her with something like pity on her face. She turned her face to glance at the shimmering portal behind the wall of fire. "It's funny," she said softly, "how big of a difference two feet can make."

"What are you—?"

"If they had left from the spot where you lead them, they would have arrived at the Tower of Farore. They would have been cold, hungry, and on the verge of hypothermia by the time the Zora were able to get to them, but ultimately, things would have worked out. But they didn't leave from there. They left from two feet over. And now…."

"Now what?" Anduriel demanded, her heart pounding in her chest. "What have you done?"

"What I had to," she replied. "Now certain paths are no longer open, and others once in question guaranteed. Now, sister, you and I must talk. In private." She held up her hand and gestured to the crystalline ring she wore. "I have blinded her, deafened her for now. It is not for her to hear. Her, _or_ the others." She gave Anduriel a significant look.

Anduriel frowned, sagged against the tree trunk and let herself slide down to the ground. She wasn't strong enough to stop Revanas from killing her if that was what the elder wanted, there was no point pretending otherwise. Not now that Link and his friends were gone. "You want me to…." Her eyes narrowed. "I have…very little strength left sister."

"You have enough left for this."

For a moment, Anduriel held her gaze defiantly. But at last her lips tightened, and she bowed her head. Her hands began to tremble, her breath came faster and shallower than it had before, but when she raised her face again grim determination shone in her ruined eyes. "It is done," she said. "I cannot…hold it long. Not against him. Speak your peace and be done."

"Things are in motion, faster than they have been in some time. Paths are dying by the dozens with every step the Hero takes, and every move our sisters make against him, myself included. There are still too many possibilities to predict the outcome, but certain things have become clear to me. Foremost among them that there will not be a sufficient number of Sages left by the end for the Hero to do what he must. For this Cycle to see an end."

"What?" Anduriel replied. "Who—?"

"The details are not yet decided," Revanas cut her off. "Which of them will fall and which will remain I cannot tell you, but what is guaranteed now – what I have ensured by throwing their departure off by two feet – is that at least two of the Sages will die before the end. Maybe more, but at least two."

"But…without all seven…!"

"And that is why I have come," Revanas said. "Why I had to come. Two of _us_ need to get through this, sister. At least two. The boy is cutting a bloody swath through our ranks, but he cannot be allowed to kill us all."

"So speak to Mudora, or Valdyx, then," Anduriel spat. "Why come to me?"

"You know why," Revanas chided her. "Neither Valdyx, Mudora or Khol can do anything against the Master, they are bound far too tightly for that. Nobernal might have been useful, had he not killed her and left her corpse to dance in her place. It has to be you, Anduriel. You are the only one who can defy him fully. And I am the only one left who can aid you when the time comes."

"How?" she demanded. "How can you aid me? You are bound! If you can aid me, why am I sightless today?! Why did you not aid me then?!"

"Because it was not one of the paths available to me," Revanas replied, her voice pained. "I am trying, sister. I am doing what I can. I am bound, but I still have paths before me to choose between, unlike the others. But they are precious few, and I must guard them with my life, do you understand? He must not realize what they are before I take them, or this will all have been for naught. But _you have to live_. I can do nothing without you."

"That," Anduriel said, "may be out of my hands. I am tied…so tightly into you. All of you. For each one who falls…."

"I will not fall," Revanas promised her. "And the boy's sword _cannot_ fall. We will have to be enough to hold you. Just until the end, sister. You only have to hold out until then."

"Why should I trust you?" Anduriel demanded. "Why should I believe anything you say?!"

"Because I am your sister," Revanas answered fiercely. "And the master may command my form, but my heart belongs to my Creators, and they have their own designs for this conflict!"

Anduriel looked like she was going to respond, but a sudden spasm of pain cut across her face. "I can't…," she gasped, her head sagging dangerously, "I can't hold him off any longer!"

Revanas took two steps forward and cracked her hand across her sister's face, sending the younger sentinel crumpling to the ground in a heap of tattered feathers and fragile limbs.

She felt the rush of the master back into her mind, gasped as he lashed her, far too suspicious to believe she had nothing to do with his brief inability to access her. She crumpled to her knees beside her prone sister, clenching her teeth and doubling over. "Stop," she groaned. "I've done as commanded. See for yourself. Anduriel is weakened, she will be of no use to the Hero if he survives the waters, and I have set in motion the necessary events to secure your victory. Please, stop!"

He did not stop, but she had not really expected him to. His trust in her was growing thinner by the day, but that was all right. That was part of the plan, there was no avoiding it.

She curled up into a ball beside her sister and waited for the pain to stop.

***

"What's that?" Acqul asked with a frown, squinting out through the storm. Something was falling from the Tower of Farore, three dark shapes in the snow.

"Link!" gasped Ruto from where she sat on the other side of the room.

"What?!" Acqul said, whirling to face her as the figures struck the ice and disappeared. "Ruto, the Dark Zora are out there! They'll be on him in seconds!"

She got to her feet. "I have to—!" but her voice abandoned her with a small choking noise.

"Ruto?"

"Laruto," she whispered.

"What?!"

"Laruto!" she cried. "They've got Laruto!"

She was out the door of their make-shift shelter and into the snow before Acqul even had time to process what she had said, and all the implications of it. When he did his stomach turned violently, and he was out the door behind her, screaming either for his troops or for his wife, but he was too late to stop her and the troops wouldn't be able to move fast enough.

She threw herself into the water's loving embrace and instantly her senses exploded outwards from her, confirming what she already knew. Link, Hunter, Neesha – drowning. Laruto – her beloved Laruto, safe and sound, but terrified. And the Dark Zora, alerted to the splash, to the thrashing of weak things in the water, of an easy meal. Like flesh-eating animals, swarming in for the kill.

It didn't matter that Ruto was still too far away to see them, she didn't need to see them, and she didn't need to be there. She could see what the Lake saw, be where the Lake was. And it would do what she asked of it.

A surge of water drove the air-breathers to the surface, Laruto with them as they gasped and sputtered. The water held them there despite the weight of their clothes, but she could do nothing about the cold that left them weak and trembling and unable to defend themselves from the monsters that grew closer, too close.

Too close and too many.

The dread that had plagued her for weeks reasserted itself with a vengeance and she knew: this was it. This was the moment she had been afraid of. This was the nameless thing that had haunted her dreams and chased her waking thoughts. A decision balanced on the blade of a knife, and once made could not be undone.

The troops were too far and would not be able to close the distance in time.

The Dark Zora were too many for her to handle them one at a time. While she busied herself picking off a handful of them, the rest of the pack would tear her daughter limb from limb and devour the pieces. It had to be all at once.

But she could not afford to catch Laruto and the others in the crossfire.

And she couldn't kill the monsters in a way that would poison the entire water supply for all of Hyrule. Whatever she did had to be clean.

And she had to do it now.

As a Sage she couldn't allow the Hero to come to harm.

More importantly, as a mother, she would not allow it for her daughter. Not now. Not after so long waiting, and praying, and wishing. Not now that she was so close to being safe.

There was only one option.

She closed her eyes and unleashed everything she had in her.

She could feel the Dark Zora's sudden fear and confusion, as the water began working against them. Tearing at them, pulling them back, away from their prey, and toward the sudden danger at the centre of the Lake. They thrashed and howled and struggled, but the water was unsympathetic, as cold as ice. They snarled their hate and their rage into the waters and Ruto nearly buckled under the force of it.

But somewhere in the cacophony of their reactions, she felt one, tiny bright spot – her daughter recognizing her mother's caress in the water's grip. Her mouth open in a silent, longing cry. Ruto held onto that, focused on it over everything else, held it in her heart like a torch.

She was sorry she couldn't answer the cry. But the alternative was not acceptable.

She hoped Laruto would forgive her.

She hoped Acqul would too.

She held out her hand and the water responded, dragging the screaming monsters in close. All of them. It reached into every nook and cranny in the Lake, pulled them screaming from their dark hideaways and crushed them in against each other. Until they were a terrified mass of scale and claw and teeth.

There were so many, all fighting against her. Her body was afire with the effort, flesh screaming, muscle trembling. It was hard to breathe, hard to focus, but she was almost done anyway. No reason to hold anything back anymore, let them feel the full force of her powers. Let them understand in their last few, screaming moments what being Sage of Water meant.

Ruto's life had been a sacrifice. She had always known her death would be the same.

She waited until she was sure she had them all, until her body was shaking so badly she knew she was out of time, and then she pushed. The water surged away in a rush. It struck the racing troops and drove them backwards, away from the danger at the centre of the lake. It pushed Link, and Hunter, and Neesha and Laruto up against the side of the hole in the ice their fall had caused, gave them a boost up onto it.

But it did not push the monsters. The monsters stayed where they were, and as the water fled from them and the air rushed in to fill the space, they fell. Their screams grew louder, more shrill. They scrambled over each other on the lake bed, blind to ally or enemy as they tried to get back into the water before the air could kill them, even as their scales began to smoke and their flesh began to curl.

But the water pulled away.

A few of them lunged at Ruto, hoping – correctly – that her death would bring the water back, but it was far too late for that. One exploded in a ball of fire. It was so close Ruto registered in a distant way the pain of the heat against her trembling body. It set off the other two and they went up in flames as well, burning and shrieking. And then they were all bursting into flame, setting each other off in a violent chain reaction.

Ruto closed her eyes and kept her focus on her daughter's tiny presence – the only thing that mattered anymore.

_I'm so sorry, baby,_ she told her silently as the flames licked at her flesh and the heat and light grew more intense. _Take care of our people for me. Take care of your daddy. I love you._

One last, impressive burst, a final roar of flame, and the waters came rushing back in to cover the graveyard of ash.

And Hyrule mourned the passing of its Sage.


	27. In Time, Not On Time

#  **Chapter 26 and Interludes**

##  **Chapter 26**

This is the second funeral I've attended on the shores of this lake. Might even be the same spot.

True, it's not really a funeral. Not in the official sense. The Zora will need at least a week to make their preparations for that. Maybe more for someone like Ruto, I'm not sure on the specifics.

But it's the closest to it Hunter, Neesha and I are going to be able to get, and for Acqul this is the hard part. A week from now he'll have all the support he needs to get through it, but right now…he needs friends.

I break Zoran protocol as he struggles to speak, to form the words tradition requires he say, in order to lay my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. It's rude of me, I know, but I'm technically a visiting Head of State – protocol also requires he forgive me small transgressions, so it's a bit of a loophole, and he really needs it.

He's reciting a speech he stayed up all night to write. I know because Hunter and I stayed up to help him. We contributed not a word to the prose, but kept him company, brought him food and drink, and tried to share his misery as best we could. Recognizing that Gerudo-style comfort was not what Acqul needed, Neesha did the kindest thing she's ever done for him and opted to leave us to it. Not that she slept either, judging by the shadows under her eyes. She barely knew Ruto, but the death of a Sage is a vicious blow to our taken-for-granted belief that the good guys always win, and whatever triumph we might have felt in our recent victories has been swept right out from under us.

Acqul's speech is a brutally clinical retelling of Ruto's life, measured in awards, kudos, titles, and achievements. This, too, is tradition. But you can see the rest of the story in Acqul's face. The way his expression clouds over or crumples inward at certain parts that speaks to a deeper story behind the dates and the milestones. The way his eyes get glossy suddenly, never spilling over, or the way his lips curl to hide a tremor, tells a story of her life measured in conversations, and small touches, and gestures of love.

He gets through it without crying, which is more than I can say.

When his speech is done he steps back into the ring of mourners and lets the pitifully short agenda of speakers continue on schedule. Again, at the formal funeral there will be more. But right now, it's what we could scrape together on short notice in war time. Nabooru is here, a deep scowl etched permanently onto her face. She's the only Sage who could make it – Darunia and Impa are still swamped with clean up at Kakariko, and the others…well. A few officers from the Zoran military who had already been stationed here are in line, and, in a rare move likely intended to ensure a quorum of speech-givers given her negligible rank, one of Ruto's handmaidens.

I hand Laruto back over to Acqul as he falls back into place beside us. She's too little to understand everything that's happening, but she knows a formal occasion when she sees one, and she's got her Serious Face on. And she knows her dad's Sad Face, too, and curls instinctively against his chest to offer him what comfort she can. He takes some degree of strength from it, curling a hand against her back, and keeping his face turned relentlessly forward, unable to look at her without risking his composure. He keeps his eyes where I can't bear to look – on his dead wife's shrouded body, laid out on an alter carved of ice, engraved with ornate symbols that simultaneously represent everything she was and fail utterly at the exact same task.

"Is she really gone?" he asks me softly, like he can't quite believe it. Like maybe this is still a bad dream and he's just got to wake up. His voice is quiet, but raw.

I know I should tell him, yes, she's really gone, but I can't quite believe it either. "I don't know," I say. "I guess."

This was supposed to be a happy homecoming. I was so excited to see the looks on their faces when we handed Laruto over. So desperately in need of at least one rescue completed, one person returned home, unharmed, no strings attached. Turns out it wasn't a string, it was a goddess damned noose and I didn't see it.

There is some part of me that is – was – convinced that if I could just bring all the maidens home everything would work out. That's where this started. Them getting kidnapped. That's where it all went off the road and burst into flames in the ditch. If I could just fix that, everything else would sort itself out. And it almost…I mean, yesterday it looked like…but no.

It's not that simple.

It's never been that simple.

Because it didn't start when Agahnim kidnapped the maidens, and it didn't start when he built the towers, and it didn't start when he sent me out of Hyrule.

It started a hundred years ago when one specific asshole decided that what he had wasn't good enough. That's how simple it is.

Ruto's dead, but at least I get to go to one of her memorials. Aliza and a dozen other women I lived, ate, fought, and hung out with are dead too, and I missed theirs. Bruiser never even got a funeral.

And how many others I didn't know, never spoke with, and now never will? How many dead in Kakariko? How many dead in Castletown? How many dead here at Lake Hylia, and high up in the Goron Mountains? How many funeral pyres lit, how many graves dug, how many tombs carved out, and how many left lying where they fell because he decided _he_ didn't have enough?

And how many more before this whole thing is said and done?

I feel it, now, in my chest. Like I did at Jinni and Ketari's funeral. A sudden, bleak sadness that goes so deep I don't even know where it starts. Maybe even all the way down to my heart of hearts. Like it's one of the pillars on which my life is built, and even when I think I've escaped its shadow it's still there, waiting. It knows I'll be back. It knows I can't really ever escape it.

It takes everything I have to stay still for the rest of the memorial and listen to droning speeches that fail to encapsulate the loss. That know they can't, so they don't even try. No mention of the vicious intelligence hidden behind the endless layers of formality and pomp they prefer to talk about. No mention of a heart unwaveringly dedicated and loyal to who and what she cared about, shoring up and grounding the service to her people and Hyrule they're focusing on instead. No mention of what an impossibly spoiled little brat she was, but who laughed at most of my jokes and took my side more often than she didn't and saved my life more than once. Who proposed to me when we were eleven years old, and then changed her mind when we were almost eighteen because she realized she had bigger duties and she had to put aside what she wanted to fulfill them.

And it never occurred to her not to fulfill them.

Selfish, selfless, horrible, wonderful woman, who made me miserable as often as she made me laugh. I have to keep reminding myself that I've got no business telling the Zora how to grieve even if I think they're skipping the important bits.

I guess I should just be grateful my lingering hypothermia meant they left me off the speech list. I guess they should be grateful too.

How many funerals do you have to go to before you get good at them?

They'll drop us off at the tower tomorrow so we can go back through the portal and figure out whether we're going to have to hold another funeral for Anduriel or not, and then a small group of official pall bearers will continue up the river toward Zora's domain with the body for the formal ceremony. Then maybe I can get a start on making sure I never have to find out the answer to that question.

As soon as the speeches are done and I'm sure Acqul's not alone, I ask Hunter to make sure no one follows me and I leave the crowd.

I'm so done with funerals.

*******

Nabooru finds me on the bridge, sometime after sunset, and takes a seat opposite me without saying anything. If it weren't for the moon glow catching fire in her hair you'd barely know she was there. When she catches my eye she jerks her chin at the simple knife driven into the planks not far from us and gives me a questioning look.

"Wasn't me," I say. "Probably Hunter, maybe when they first let him out of the medical tent. Whenever we're at Lake Hylia he likes to come up here and leave something. Flowers aren't really appropriate, given the women he's trying to honour, so he usually goes for whatever weapon he can spare."

"No one takes them?" she asks, no hint on her face of her opinion of this ritual.

"Sure they do," I say. "Free knives. But it doesn't matter. Ketari and Jinni would both probably be happier the thing is getting used than getting left here to rust, and all that really matters to him is that he comes and he does it."

"Jinni would kill him if she knew he was dulling perfectly good knives," Nabooru notes.

I snort. "Oh he knows. Ketari would too. It's half spite because they're not here to stop him."

She scratches at her cheek as she considers that. "Sheikah are weird," she concludes, then frowns, and a shadow crosses her eyes. "So are Zora. That was the strangest funeral I've ever been too."

"You didn't attend any in the Great War?" I ask, surprised.

She makes a face. "The Zora were really only close to us in the early days of the war. Before the Moblins. There's a reason they switched over to the Hylians as easily as they did when it was over." She shrugs. "Besides, I was too young then. Nobody important enough to have regular dealings with Zora."

"You were still a Sage," I note.

"Aye, I was," she agrees. "And today we can see how much that matters in the grand scheme of things."

It occurs to me that while I had assumed she'd come out here to keep me company, I think it might be the other way around.

"They didn't talk about anything that matters," she says after a long moment of us both getting lost in our thoughts. If I were anybody else it would sound like a neutral observation, but I know her way too well to fall for that. There's a melancholy note in her voice, a sadness in the way she says 'matters'.

I nod at her, even though I'm not sure how well she can make me out in the dark. "They draw some really thick lines between public and private," I say. "Funerals are public affairs, so they talk about public things. To talk about who she was as a person would be rude and disrespectful in their view." I shrug as though to say, to each their own.

She frowns. "Ruto wasn't like that."

"Ruto wasn't like that with us," I correct her. "She loved the Sages like an extended family, so she let you guys in on her private life, included you in it. That's huge for a Zora."

"How are you going to tell Zelda?"

I'm suddenly tired. "I don't know," I manage to scrape out through my throat. "I still haven't told her about her father even."

"Don't coddle her, she deserves more respect than that from you." I can see a flash of white, her teeth in the dark. She's normally more careful with her comments about Zelda. Ruto's death has hit her harder than I thought if she's feeling protective enough to abandon caution.

"I'm not coddling her, I'm coddling me," I reply. "It's not a pleasant conversation, and I wish I could do it in person."

"You can't. Move on."

I sigh and wave her off. We let silence descend between us again.

"Do you think it's a good idea, sending Nidiza to Castletown?" The question is distant, she's only half paying attention to whatever answer I might give her.

I consider it. "I admit I didn't have a lot of time to get a feel for her style, but I know Amplissa well enough to know there's tension there."

"No woman will ever receive a warm welcome to the Elite from Amplissa again," Nabooru replies. Again, there's something sad, just a hint of it in her voice. I'm not even sure it's there, but I have my suspicions. "They'll never meet the standard she compares them to, and she'll forever struggle to swallow the fact that the seat they fill will never again be filled by the one she wants." She shifts her weight, looks out over the frozen lake. "But she's Gerudo. She will move on. She will adapt. And if it means the newbies have to work just a little harder to keep their uniform, that doesn't bother me." She sighs. "My concern was more around Nidiza's politics. She's still young and brash, she still thinks the Hylians are the enemy. And," she adds bluntly, "to be fair I have trouble coming up with examples of why they're not lately."

I nod to acknowledge this point and don't bother bringing up all the usual reasons – she knows them well enough. "I picked her because she was a green and has some skills I need in there."

"Indiga used to be a green," Nabooru notes. "You could have picked her. And she's likely to go along anyway."

"Indiga thinks she's funny," I reply with a snort. "I need someone who isn't going to get any bright ideas for practical jokes to play on the Hylians, or on me while they're working. Nidiza seemed serious enough, and I assume she's not the type to defy a direct order from the King. Besides," I add, "maybe I think Amplissa needs a reason not to go courting a Gerudo's death of her own."

"You think Nidiza will be that reason?" Nabooru demands incredulously.

"I think Amplissa can't stand not winning," I clarify. "And her conflict with Nidiza's not one she can win, at least not easily. The woman brought up how Hylians suck again after I basically said to stop bringing up how Hylians suck. Clearly she's both stubborn and bold enough to stand up to Amplissa."

"Oh she is," Nabooru assures me, and there's a resigned note in her voice that makes me grin. "Believe me."

"Great," I say. "So as long as she's around, she'll drive Amplissa nuts, and as long as Amplissa's being bothered she can't dwell, and if she can't dwell, she can't do anything to ignite her own pyre."

"You're too soft," she says quietly. "If she can't—."

"I'm not losing them both," I cut her off sharply. There's a growing heat behind my eyes and I have to swallow. I am suddenly grateful that she can't see my expression well enough to realize. "Aliza's bad enough. And now Ruto. Maybe Anduriel." I can't even say Bruiser's name. I just shake my head. "Enough, Nabooru. Enough."

She raises her hand and shifts her weight again. "All right, kid," she says, then adds with a quiet sigh. "Truth be told I've had enough too."

Another silence falls and this time neither of us break it. We stay where we are without speaking until the Zora nurse comes hustling down the bridge with a lantern in his hand, clucking about hypothermia this, and cold winter air that, and what was I thinking? I let him fuss. I can see in the way the lamplight trembles in his hand, and the sorrow in his eyes that he's upset by Ruto's death and this is just his way of handling it.

"Get some sleep, highness," Nabooru says as she pulls herself to her feet. Her voice is heavy, like there's a mountain weighing down on it. "War's not over yet."

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

She arrived at the appointed hour, and was completely unsurprised to find it abandoned, save for herself and the mess of ghosts that haunted every corner of this blessed, cursed land. She loosed a resigned sigh. "Pawns in a game played by spoiled children, our every move dictated, and still my family cannot accomplish a thing on the appointed hour."

The ghost of one who had no ghost, could have no ghost, spoke to her anyway, through memories. Memories and scars. _Perhaps then, my darling Valdyx, you are adopted. For Sirana is waiting on Anduriel who chases Khol and everyone but me has given up on Mudora. And Revanas, as she has told us many, many times…._

"Arrives _in_ time, not _on_ time, yes, little one, I know." For a moment sadness broke through her customary disinterest. "But I'm afraid that's not the case this time."

_Oh no?_

"No. Sirana waits for nothing now, and Anduriel's blind and couldn't lead Khol even if Khol were still a thing that could be lead. Mudora, perhaps, is the most true to your recollection, but nothing short of the return of Our Ladies could shake her from her tower, and…there's no longer anyone to not give up on her."

_I…I am gone?_

Valdyx looked down at her hands. "Yes, pretty one. You are gone from all but my hands. They remember every light they've ever taken, even yours." She curled them into fists and tried not to think about how they had taken hers twice. "Especially yours."

_You must be very sad._

"I'm not permitted to regret, little one." And yet…and yet.

_I am very sad._

"I know, darling one, I know. Sleep now. I need to focus and I can't do it any better with your memory underfoot, than I could with the rest of you there."

The presence faded into the static at the back of her mind where it belonged. She had never known them to come forward before, to speak to her directly, and was curious about the phenomenon. Was it because her sisters were not mortals, and their light was a different sort? Or because of what she had since become.

Another came forward in Nobernal's absence. _This is not a meeting place befitting the Seven._

A new voice, a different memory. She sighed. "Sirana, this is hardly the time to be a stickler."

_Well it is not._ She could see it. She could _see_ the other Sentinel crossing her arms, folding herself into a mountain that could neither be moved nor overrun.

"Well we're not Seven any longer, are we?" Valdyx snapped in response. "More like the Three-and-a-half. And I doubt Mudora will show. So Two-and-a-half."

_Even two-and-a-half of us deserve better than a barren field. We do not often gather, Valdyx. Some formality is called for._

"Yell at Revanas. She's the one who called us here. This isn't my gathering."

Sirana's memory did not reply, but she could feel the weight of her stony, disembodied disapproval. She pressed her taloned hands together in front of her mouth and drew in a deep breath of ether. "If I find something better, will you stop harping at me and sleep?"

There was a long, grudging silence. _Yes._

"Then fine. Now sleep." It occurred to her as she began to look for an appropriate place, that if many more of them fell, her thoughts were going to start getting very crowded indeed.

It took her a while to find a good spot - couldn't be too grand or Khol might actually be pleased with it. Couldn't be too plain or Sirana would get her non-existent face in a knot – and the mulish creature had only been encouraged by death. But thankfully there was a group of ghosts huddled nearby, screaming as they all seemed to do these days. "Ah," she said, "perfect."

They were the owners and employee and guests of an inn, still huddled or scrambling, forever trying to escape the fire that had ultimately claimed their lives. She considered them for a long moment, poked through the threads of memory that kept them separate from each other and the nothingness around them. She decided their inn was suitable for her purposes, and that the brief theft of their memories was a fair trade for the equally brief respite from their current misery.

Certainly a fairer trade than the piece of her that remained wholly in the physical world would have offered them.

She drew in a deep breath and centred herself on the ghosts, then began to weave an elaborate tapestry from the threads of their memories. They calmed, one by one, as she worked, and seemed to recover something of themselves. The serving girl was first, climbing out from whatever it was she thought she was hiding within to continue wiping down the illusory bar. The owner was next, moving between the slowly coalescing tables to pick up glasses and plates that weren't there. Her husband after, to return to the kitchen and continue cooking the supper that had started the fire in the first place. One by one she rewound their lives for them, reset their position in their own memories. And with every guest that got up and returned to their table, every employee that went on about their duties as though they still lived and the inn was a physical place, the illusion gained strength and detail and warmth.

By the time Revanas arrived, nothing but the ghosts that moved around it gave it away as a collection of memories brought into the light.

Though she was clearly in a hurry, judging by the force with which she opened the door, she still paused on the threshold to look around and nod approvingly. "Khol won't like it," she said as she took the seat Valdyx offered her at a table near the fireplace. "Too mundane."

"That was sort of the idea," Valdyx replied, propping her feet up on the table and leaning back in the chair. She had woven herself into the memories enough to give herself the illusion of solidity. It wasn't the real thing, but after so long without, it warmed her to feel the sensation of her own body – her real body. Wings made of starlight, skin like the night sky, silver hair braided and knotted in impossibly intricate patterns. The smooth wood of the make-believe table against her heels, and the warmth of her make-believe skin against itself as she folded her hands across her stomach were intoxicating. She supposed it was rude to take this form in front of her sisters, who may also miss their original forms, but she was a simple creature, and simple pleasures were hard to deny herself. "The question is do you?"

"It's lovely. If Mudora were coming she would applaud your choice of era as well. This was a good century for us." She didn't need to say it. The silent 'perhaps the last' hung between them.

"Then Khol is outvoted and her opinion, as usual, is irrelevant," Valdyx replied with a shrug. "Mudora’s absence doesn't surprise me, but do you actually expect Khol to show?"

"She can do nothing less," Revanas replied heavily. "Though not because I ask, but because he has told her to."

Valdyx straightened, dropped her feet to the floor. "To business then," she said. "I assume you're here before she is for a reason."

"Aye," Revanas said. "I wanted to ask two favours of you. One last time."

Valdyx frowned. "You know my limits, and right now they are many. If it interferes with my primary duty, I will not. If it requires direct interaction with the world beyond certain tight constraints, my hands, literally, are bound."

Revanas waved this off as unimportant. "When Khol is finished here, there will be some question as to who guards the Seventh Sage moving forward."

"You already guard her. Why would—oh. Oh, Revanas." She felt a wave of horror and regret wash over her. "What have you done?"

"What I had to," she replied. "As we all do. Valdyx, I don't have much time you must listen. It must be you that takes her, do you understand? Promise me this."

"If I can," Valdyx responded, still frowning. "Certainly in this role I have some minor freedom from his will, but I am still bound, Revanas. It's likely not up to me."

She waved this off as also unimportant. "Secondly, I need you to find the remaining Medallions."

"What medal—Revanas!" She gaped at the ram-horned Sentinel across the table from her and for a second her form, the table, the entire inn flickered. Horror crawled across the expressions of the ghosts and their mouths opened in silent screams as the flames crept toward them once again. Valdyx shook herself with a hiss and within a moment the scene had returned to its previous stability. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice, though there was no one there to hear them.

Well. Except for _him_.

"Revanas, you can't be serious. What are you going to do with them?"

"Me? Nothing. I won't even touch them. They just need to be found and restored. The rest will take care of itself."

"The rest of what?" Valdyx demanded. "Those things are abominations. _Blasphemies_. They never should have seen the light of day." Her dark face went grey. "If we hadn't found the last three before they were used, I—!"

"I'm aware of the history," Revanas cut her off crisply. "Mudora has an entire book dedicated to the damned things, in which her tone very nearly verges on _opinionated_ , so you can imagine how upset she must have been. We were _all_ upset. Perhaps you don't recall what was done with mine." There was an edge in her voice, a very, very dangerous edge and Valdyx, wisely, backed away.

"Of course, Revanas, of course," she said. "But then you, of all people—."

"Do what I must," she interrupted again, flatly.

"Revanas, _mine_ is still out there." Her expression was a cross between horror and a deep, personal offence. "You can't—!"

"Valdyx, can you find them or not?" Revanas demanded, irritated.

She straightened, more offended. "Of course I can," she snapped. "Who do you think hid them in the first place? I know where they are."

"Then go and find them. Restore them to the physical world. Put whatever protections around them you need to to soothe your conscience and your anxieties, but they must be restored."

Valdyx's frown was dark. "Or what?" she demanded.

"Or the Hero will find them, and he cannot. If he does all I have done up to now for has been for naught."

"You can't just—."

But a bone-rattling crash, like thunder, shook the illusory inn, and the only thing that kept the windows from shattering was their intangibility. Both Sentinels flinched, and a booming voice called out, "REVANAS! I HAVE COME. DO NOT TRY TO RESIST."

Revanas sighed and sagged in the chair. Valdyx scowled, despite her pleasure at having someone not quite so ragged looking to take her anger and sudden anxiety out on. She rose to her feet, leaned on the table and shouted back: "She's as bound as we are, you idiot! She couldn't even if she wanted to!"

A distant roll of thunder was the only answer she received from outside.

"You want to show a bit of respect and come in here to talk to us with your _inside_ voice?" She threw herself back into the chair with a scowl and crossed her arms over her chest. "Theatrical _bastard_ , I _hate_ it when she does this."

There was a moment of waiting, and then the door burst open and their sister stormed in. The expression on her scarred face mirrored the angry storm outside. Even her third eye was in on the act, looking more bloodshot and angry than usual amidst the mass of runes carved into her flesh. "You're talking about respect and this is what you conjure for our meeting?" she demanded, gesturing derisively around at the inn.

"It was perfectly pleasant before you brought your whole wrath of the Goddesses routine," Valdyx snapped in response. She dropped her boots back up on the table. "Thanks for blotting out what little sun we get in this miserable hellhole, by the way. Your presence is always a treat."

"Shut up, Valdyx, this isn't about you."

"Honey, in case you forgot, I'm _death_. Sooner or later it's _all_ about me. Oh, and hey, in case you didn't get the memo, that goes for us too these days."

Revanas rubbed at her temple with her long fingers, mindful of her talons. "Listening to you two fight," she murmured, "makes me miss Anduriel."

Khol growled at her. "Comments like that are exactly why I have to drag you back to my tower, you know that right?" she demanded in a tone that implied frustration. "Why can't you just do what you're told?"

"I _am_ doing what I'm told," she replied, turning in her chair to frown at her sister. "What I was told to do by the _Goddesses_. Balancing what they want with what _he_ wants, isn't exactly a simple thing. I'm sorry he can't see that."

Khol rustled her leathery wings like a bird puffing up to make itself seem bigger. "He doesn't trust you," she said it like an accusation, and meant it as one. "He's sure you're cheating somehow. That you're only pretending to obey but you're actually aiding our enemies."

" _His_ enemies," she corrected Khol.

" _Our_ enemies!" Khol cried. "Revanas! Why do you insist—?!"

But Revanas rose to her feet so suddenly that Khol's voice failed her in the face of her sister's wrath. "There are three pieces of the Triforce that we are sworn to protect, and just because a single piece of it is currently in control of the realm to which we are bound does not justify the abandonment of oaths owed equally to the other two." She flexed her talons, rustled her own wings. "If he orders us to throw ourselves against the others until we lie in bloody pieces on the ground, so be it, but they are _not our enemies_."

"Revanas," said Valdyx softly.

She seemed to shrink again, and found her seat once more. She passed a hand over tired eyes. "I'm sorry," she said wearily. "I'm sorry, Khol. I'm just…knowing what is to come does not make enduring it any easier. And it has been an…an upsetting few days."

Khol shifted her weight awkwardly. "I'm afraid that I'm not here to make it any better." Her voice was suddenly quiet, no sign of her previous bluster in evidence.

"I know, Khol," Revanas said. "If it's any consolation in the future, I forgive you."

"It hasn't started yet," Khol noted with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"I can see the future, Khol, I know what's in store."

"As you said," the scarred angel noted, "to know is different than to endure. You may not feel so generous once we have begun."

Revanas lowered her head and Valdyx caught a slight tremor in her hands before she hid them under the table. "I will not," she said as lightly as she could manage. "And so I offer you my forgiveness while I am still a creature capable of forgiveness. Before he strips even that choice from me."

Valdyx had turned her gaze from one to the other and back again, and now frowned suspiciously. "What are you talking about?" she demanded. "What's going on?"

Khol turned to her and tried to speak, tried to explain, but found herself unable or unwilling to put voice to it.

"The master has decided that I am a liability," Revanas said, lifting her head again. Behind her mass of curls her face was hard as a stone, her eyes closed off. "He is convinced I have found a loophole in the binding, despite the fact that I have done as he has asked, and that even now I will allow Khol to take me, even knowing what is in store."

Valdyx suddenly felt sick. "Revanas, what—?"

"I am to remake her," Khol said, and the admission pained her.

Valdyx choked. "What?!" she managed. She glanced at Revanas, who would not meet her gaze, then back at Khol. "No," Valdyx said. "Khol, not again. You can`t."

"She's been corrupted somehow," Khol told her, and there was no sign of doubt in her voice. "By the Seventh Sage, I expect. The binding is cracked. She's still chained, but not completely – I can _see_ it. She's found a loophole and she can't be allowed to continue using it." Her face was grim, her eyes hard. "I don't have a choice, Valdyx, it has to be done."

Valdyx struggled to remember how to breathe and it was a long moment before she remembered she couldn't anymore. "Why you?" she asked. "When Nobernal was…when she…it was him that did it. Why would he make you—?"

"I asked him to," Khol cut her off quickly. "I _begged_ , Valdyx, and you know that isn't…that I don't do that easily."

"Why?" Valdyx asked, uncomprehending.

Revanas answered before Khol could. "Because she thought if it has to be done it should at least be one of my own sisters that does it. She thought that might make it easier. For me. For her. For the rest of you afterward." She sighed and pushed her chair back with a great deal of reluctance. Khol turned sombrely and held the door open for her as she got to her feet. "She's wrong, for the record."

Valdyx rose. "Khol, don't. Don't do this." Her expression was nakedly desperate. "Don't make me take her. Not by your hand."

Khol ignored this; adopted a tone of neutral instruction. "The Seventh Sage will be delivered to your stronghold, there to be guarded by your physical self. This is the Master's will."

Valdyx hesitated. "But…that's what she wanted. If she's a traitor—?"

"A ploy to make us do the opposite. As for the Medallions," her neutral expression wavered for just a second. Valdyx wasn't the only one with a Medallion left out there, "he says you _are_ to restore those, and you are to keep them safe until he decides how he wishes to use them. He says…he says that you can consider hiding the knowledge of them from him your first strike. You won't be allowed a second." Her face was a study in stone, but Valdyx knew her well enough to know how deep her fear went. "Please, Valdyx. Just do what you're told."

And then they were gone.

Valdyx sat back down heavily and stared at the door they had left through, until long after the memory of fire had consumed the inn and left her alone and insubstantial once more.

*******

Durnam ascended the stone stairs as slowly as his pride would allow. One watching him might have mistaken his lack of speed for age, or fatigue, or poor lung capacity. But while all of these things certainly played their role, they were not the true reason for it. Durnam, himself, wasn't sure what that reason was. Fear, perhaps, at the thought of what might be lurking in that chamber. Dread at facing another conversation with the monsters that had enabled him to take the throne, however tenuously. Confusion at the unexplained change in the monsters' tactics, summoning rather than appearing.

Or perhaps it was the weight of a hundred decisions that dragged at his feet and bowed his shoulders. Decisions both made and not made. Things done and things avoided. And the consequences of the sum, like a chain around his neck.

He had taken the throne, sure. Wore a crown, most definitely. But to keep it he'd had to cross lines he wouldn't have believed he could – lines he hadn't even known existed until he was past them. And what, in the end, was he keeping? A throne and a crown were nothing more than a chair and a fancy hat in the absence of the power and authority they symbolized.

And it wasn't _them_ climbing the stairs to answer _his_ summons, was it?

He closed his eyes and stopped, and it was a long time before he renewed his climb.

Agahnim's official chambers were gone, lost in the fire that consumed a good portion of the palace. But unofficially he had controlled more than a handful of rooms near the top floor. And in his absence, the Moblins carried on his grim work. Whatever that was, and Durnam had no intentions of asking for details.

The fire had been a blessing in disguise for them. Though they had lost much of Agahnim's things in the blaze – tools, notes, books – it had effectively separated this wing of the palace from the rest of it, and provided an even more convincing reason for the denizens of the palace to stay away than had Agahnim's black-magic barrier. Less important sections of the palace had been rebuilt, repainted, and refurnished already, while this one went untouched, and if any wondered about it, they knew better than to ask.

Durnam had never been in the actual remaining tower – an arrangement that had satisfied both himself and his benefactors – and he couldn't help but wonder for what purpose the monster was demanding his presence now.

He passed by doors and hallways on his way to the top, marked with strange symbols he could say with some certainty he had never seen before. He was no mage, but the House Durnam had almost always employed one, and he could not recall any of those he had known in his lifetime to have drawn images so harsh and ugly. He didn't know what had been used to draw them, but there was a sickly sweet smell in the air, almost strong enough to overpower the lingering scent of burning wood, and he put it out of his mind with a shudder.

He saw only a few of the beasts on the stairs as he climbed, and they all stopped what they were doing to leer hungrily at him; he could feel their porcine eyes on his back long after he had passed from their line of sight. He didn't feel Kingly in their presence, or even lordly. He felt, in fact, like a child in the woods on a moonless night, with nothing but the starving wolves for company.

The door at the very top of the tower was open when he arrived, and he could see a sole Moblin within – the one who was either their leader or their representative. It crouched in the centre of the room, surrounded by mirrors and basins of water, and pieces of glass. Symbols like those he'd seen elsewhere were scrawled in patterns all over the room, and on some of the reflective surfaces at which it stared. It leaned forward to scowl at a mirror, before something about a basin of water to its right caused its ear to flick, and it abruptly rerouted its attention. Durnam, frozen outside the doorframe, could hear something, like whispers but sharper, but could make no sense of the sound.

The Moblin looked up suddenly and scowled at him, gesturing for him to step inside. Hating himself for how badly he trembled, he did so, and the sounds became clear so suddenly he gasped and staggered.

They were voices. Dozens of them.

"—say that Zelda's alive! The Hero sent them a message and said to—"

"—hear that? I think the kids are up. I don't want them to hear us talking about the reb—"

"—sons are dead too. Youngest wasn't even old enough to succeed him as head of the House, why—"

"—got a pigeon from Kakariko this morning. Said the Moblins have got mages from somewhere and I started to wonder—"

"—throw in an extra couple rupees and I'll give you the latest rumours about the Lord Regent and his—"

But the Moblin made an intricate series of gestures and the voices died down again, back to a whisper. It turned to Durnam. "Things go up now," it said brusquely. "Things get hard. Need new plan."

He stared blankly at the Moblin and tried not to let his eyes drift over to the mirrors. From his new angle he could see images flickering on them, like reflections on a lake. "I wasn't aware things had been _easy_ ," he managed.

The Moblin ignored this, as though he hadn't spoken. "Need army. Go to field, to place on map. I give you map."

Durnam balked. "You have an army," he said harshly. "Go yourself."

"No," the Moblin snapped. "Your army goes."

"I need my army here to keep order," Durnam protested. "Without it I'll have no defence against the rebels."

"Have us, yes?" the Moblin said, and for a moment a hint of its old wheedling self was back. "We good. We handle rebels."

Durnam managed to scowl. "Yes and you've done a marvellous job of that so far," he snapped. "I don't need charmed mirrors to tell me what's happening on the streets. Rumours are running wild about the return of the Hero, talk is beginning to sound favourable toward to the rebellion, I don't have solid numbers on how many people have run off to join them, because my primary spy was _one of them_. My dungeons are overflowing with people who refuse to respect the curfew, and I've had to execute three of my own House members, and assassinate a very old friend in the last week. To be honest with you, I don't believe you've been holding up your end of the bargain at all!"

Something dark and angry flitted across the Moblin’s face, and though the air in the room remained as dead and heavy as it had when he'd entered, the heavy door behind him swung shut, plunging the room into what would have been darkness but for the faint light coming from the flickering images on the array of mirrors.

One of them in particular, grew brighter than the others at the Moblin’s gesture, and Durnam could once again hear the voice associated. It appeared to be a young guardswoman, speaking to a merchant. "He wouldn't," said the guardswoman, frowning. "I admit I don't agree with everything he's done, but you're saying he's using _Moblins_?"

"I'm saying," the merchant repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, "that that's what I'm hearing. Something happened in Kakariko. Something big. And Moblins and mages were involved, and some folks are saying it bears a lot of similarities to some of what we've—"

Another gesture, and a chunk of painted glass lit up. "All I'm saying is why hasn't the Grand Lord High And Mighty Regent come out and said something about it, huh?" The voice was drunken and loud, the face it came from a little too red. A chorus of voices tried to hush her, but she refused to even acknowledge them. "If there's even a chance the Princess – the _Queen –_ is alive, then Durnam should just acknowledge it. Just say that IF she comes back, the throne is hers. That's all." Somebody hissed something Durnam couldn't make out. "'S not treason, would be treason not to say it. _He's_ the treasonous one!"

It gestured and the light from the mirror faded, replaced by the light from a large, ornate basin of water. "—got a hawk from one of our field patrols. Swears he spotted Gerudo out in the Field, headed away from the desert. Wants permission to engage."

"Denied," snarled a second voice. "What is he, drunk? No way there are Gerudo out there in the snow, not even for raiding. Not this time of year."

There was a hesitation, and then in a lower voice the first speaker added, "I heard a rumour that they're in support of the rebellion. That the Hero's sent them somehow, from wherever he is. I mean, it is his _father_ running the damn thing, so—"

"Gerudo," said Durnam numbly, as the Moblin gestured again, and the light dimmed. "Coming here."

"And the secret about to be no secret no more," said the Moblin, pointing at itself. "Once break, no more spell. No more cloak. They know. They _all_ know. Then they come. For you."

Durnam felt himself go pale.

"Time for new deal," said the Moblin. "Your army go to Field on map. Stop Gerudo. _My_ army come through portal. We fix everything."

"What?" said Durnam. "No! I won't allow you to—!" But the Moblin rose out of its crouch and crossed the space between them in three long strides, forcing Durnam to stumble backward into the wall.

It put its face right in front of Durnam's and even in the dark it was impossible to miss the murderous intent in its eyes. "I say," it growled softly, its breath warm and foul, " _new deal_." Behind it a full-length mirror slowly lit up, and though there was no sound, Durnam could see his family in it, sitting down for a meal and no doubt lamenting his absence, as often as it was these days. His heart stuttered in his chest. "You send army to field. Kill Gerudo. You find me people for magic. For _sacrifice_. Many peoples. And maybe we leave something behind for you when we done." The mirror faded back to empty glass. "Maybe."

Durnam tried to speak, but found his voice would not come to him. The only sound he managed was a small, strangled noise, perhaps a sob, at the back of his throat. But he closed his eyes and nodded, and the Moblin smiled and backed away.

The door opened of its own accord and light flooded the room again. Durnam flinched away from it, but the Moblin grabbed him and threw him bodily out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind.

When he could breathe again he tried to swear. And then he tried to pray. But the Goddesses names would not pass his lips.

With his head lowered and his spine bent, he started back down the stairs.

*******

##  **Chapter 26 (cont.)**

It is a grim procession that heads out the next morning. The first, shortest, and slowest leg of the journey is on foot, on top of the ice to accommodate those of us who aren't water-breathers. Once they're in the water and swimming they'll be able to travel much faster, but Acqul asked Nabooru and I to bear the coffin with him and Ruto's handmaiden – now Laruto's handmaiden, and standing in for her – for this leg of the journey. Nobody's about to tell him no.

Hunter's face is stone this morning, but Neesha looks a little pale as the ice creaks and groans beneath us. She's never been a fan of any significant body of water, and her near-drowning experience in the ice-cold version of it has done nothing to endear it to her. There isn't much on this planet that can scare her, but I think drowning just rocketed to the top of the list, and she now has a renewed appreciation for the fact that ice is just water in disguise. But the Zora were out here before we were, checking the thickness and making sure it would hold our weight.

It's slow going, and the wind lashes us angrily, like it blames us for the weight we carry on our shoulders. I can't speak for the others, but a part of me is glad when the cold finally drives the feeling from me and lets me hide behind my numbness. Takes us the better part of the morning to reach the base of the now empty tower. We set the coffin down so the Zora can make whatever modifications they need to make for the underwater part of their journey, while we say goodbye.

"Find the others," Acqul says when he shakes my hand. "Bring them home." He can't bring himself to say it, but clear in his eyes is the silent plea, 'make this worth it.'

"I will," I promise him, even though it might turn out to be a lie in the end. Because I don't even know that I can do it.

And I don't think anything will ever make this worth it. Not for him.

"Take care of each other," he adds as he says goodbye to the others. "Be careful."

"Hey," Nabooru says before he can go. She grabs his arm and turns him to face her. "She was a strong woman, for all her foolish whims. I liked her." Acqul, thankfully, has had experience with Gerudo and understand the true depth of this comment. He nods seriously, but Nabooru doesn't let him go. She works her jaw for a moment, either looking for words or questioning them, but finally adds: "Someday someone's going to come looking for that little girl. Hoping to find her mother's power somewhere in there. Talking about sages and awakenings." She holds his gaze fiercely. "Don't let them."

His eyes are wide, and more than a little confused, but he nods, and she lets him go.

"Now who's soft?" I ask her under my breath as she rejoins us on the edge.

"Shut your mouth," she snaps.

Laruto waves at me sleepily as he carries her back toward the water. "Blue!" she calls to me.

I nod solemnly. "I'll tell him," I promise her.

And then they're gone beneath the icy water and it's just the four of us left at the tower. "I'll walk you to your portal," Nabooru says. "Just in case the Zora missed something on their sweep, and then I've gotta get back. Seeing as you sent most of my good women away I'm sure the B Team is busy burning down the fortress while I'm gone."

"Way I hear it, you're the one who burned down the Fortress," I note as we turn and head back inside.

"It was infected," she replies with a sneer. "It had to go. You would have done the same and you know it. Besides it was just one wing. That's nothing." I manage a good impression of a grin and she offers me a decent mockery of a scowl and we let the silence retake its place.

It's eerie being in this tower now that it's just a tower. Feels like a lifetime ago since the last time we were here. Distant memories of it echo back off the walls with our footsteps, like scenes from someone else's life. I can't help but stare at the pile of gigantic rubble that used to be an Armos as we pass it by on our way to the portal. I try, and fail, to trace the path that lead me from there to here. From then to now. How long has it even been? A month? Two? I don't know.

"Should start watching the mirror from here," Hunter says as we near the point where we ported back into Hyrule. "Check for threats on the way. Maybe see if you can spot Anduriel."

I nod and pull the mirror free of my pouch, mindful of the pearl nested in the top. Doing my usual dance with the reflection to try to avoid having to see myself in it, I use it to spy on Anduriel's glade as we walk.

Or what's left of it.

My stomach sinks as I stare at the charred trees and blackened ground. Tilting the mirror up I can see smoke still streaking the air above the orchard with sooty lines, like claw marks in the sky. Somewhere in the distance the fire is still burning, but all around us here it appears to have consumed everything available. I hiss and Hunter and Neesha both glance at me, questioning. I tell them what I see and watch the same fear twisting in my gut crawl into theirs.

I go rapid fire through the argument I've been having with myself for the last two days. We couldn't have gotten back there any faster than we did. Even after the healing potion none of us were in fighting shape right away, thanks to our bracing swim in the lake, and the Zora camp is all the way on the other side of it from here. Trying to cross it on our own after Ruto's…before the Zora had had the chance to confirm it was clear of Dark World Zora and were able to test the ice would have been a terrible decision, and we didn't know whether the tower was holding more of them. The Zora needed time to do it, Acqul needed us to be here, and as much as it burns me to admit it, if we're too late to help Anduriel now, we were too late by the time we hit the lake, let alone hours later when we finally woke up in the medical tent. I would have happily taken the risk, but it would have been for nothing anyway, and it was Acqul asking, what was I supposed to do?

Without a word exchanged all three of us pick up our pace.

When we're finally out on the parapets and have picked out what appears to be – oh Nayru, oh Farore, oh Din please let it be – the portal, about two feet out from the tower in the middle of space, but a good few feet above the level of the floor we're jumping from, I turn back to Nabooru. The wind's gotten angrier since we started climbing, and I have to shout to be heard over it. "I don't know when we'll be jumping back next. Anytime we get near a good spot to connect I'll try to jump back to report, but it could be a while."

"Try to hit the Hyrule Field portal next," she shouts back. "Then I can move the women from there into Castletown to help keep order." We talked about this earlier and I nod to let her know that I remember. She turns her eyes over all of us, and her face is grim. "Get in, hit hard, get out," she says.

Neesha goes first, which surprises me. I expected her to hesitate over leaping off an impossibly high tower into open air above the very same lake she almost drowned in – in fact, the hole we made hasn't frozen all the way over yet. But I neglected to calculate the Nabooru-Effect. She's not about to show weakness in front of her, not with the amount of trouble she's currently in, even though I can see in how bright her eyes suddenly are that she's quite sure she'd about to die horribly.

Instead she hits the shimmery patch in the air and disappears.

Hunter backs up to get a running start and then he's up and over and gone as well.

Nabooru catches my shoulder as I move to do the same. I glance up at her, surprised.

"I've had enough," she reminds me.

I hold her gaze for a moment, then nod. She lets me go, and I make my jump, soaring off the edge of the tower. I brace myself as I cross the portal and land in a pile of ash and dust on the other side.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"I'll take something warm to eat, and something strong to drink," Brayden said, dropping into a seat at the bar like the entire world had settled on his shoulders – wasn't hard to pretend. "Oh, and whatever gossip you've got that's worth the breath it takes to tell it."

Renaud was already installed at a table nearby, chatting up the people he was drinking with like they were old friends, even though he'd never met them before taking a seat at their table. Brayden threw a glance around the room, ostensibly to survey the crowd but actually to watch Renaud work. He hated to admit it, but passive or not Renaud was better at this part of the job than he was.

His wig was itchy and the roaring fireplace kept the temperature in the room at a level that was already making him sweat under the make-up Mel had carefully applied for him before he left. They weren't going to be able to stay long.

"It's a good day for gossip," said the barkeep, reaching for a bottle of something honey coloured. She pulled it down and set a glass in front of Brayden. "Not so good for food, though. Lunch crowd got here before you. I'll have the boy cook something up, but it'll take a while."

"Just the drink and the gossip then," Brayden said easily. "I can't sit long."

"Did you hear about the Gerudo?" she asked, filling his glass from the bottle.

"Little cold out lately for news about Gerudo," he said with a wry quirk of his mouth. "What about them?"

"Not cold enough, apparently," she replied, popping the cork back into the bottle. "Rumour is there's a group of them headed this way as we speak."

It wasn't any harder for Brayden to look surprised than it had been to look tired and worried – nobody was supposed to know that yet. "Says who?"

"Had a couple of lads from Beamos company in for breakfast this morning. They got their marching orders while they were sitting at the table. The whole company's shipping out first thing tomorrow."

Brayden felt a chill run down his spine despite the heat in the room. "What makes you say it's Gerudo?"

"Well one of them joked about it, didn't he?" she replied. "Made some comment about it being war with the Gerudo and they all laughed. But the messenger didn't crack so much as a smile, and they all got this look on their faces, like they didn't know what to think." She shrugged. "Maybe it's not Gerudo, but that seemed pretty clear to me. You add that to the rest of the rumours—."

"What rumours?" he interrupted.

"What do you mean, what rumours?" she demanded. "You out of the loop?"

"My nephew's normally the one who feed me my gossip," he said, and it wasn't a lie. "But he's away. So I guess you could say that, yeah."

"Well, you know about the rebellion at least?"

"Of course! Everyone knows about the rebellion."

"Do you know who they're saying runs it?"

"Thought it was that noble boy. El-something."

"He's part of it," she confirmed. "But he's partners with Brayden!"

Brayden gave her his best blank stare.

"Oh come on!" she said. "Brayden of the Sheikah. He's the Hero of Time's father!"

"Oh, that Brayden!"

"Yes, that Brayden! And what's his son besides the Hero of Time?"

Brayden pretended to think about it. "King of the Gerudo?"

"Exactly! So we figure he's called in a favour and that's why the Gerudo are coming."

Brayden took a long drink from his mug. "Are we thinking that's a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Hard to say, inn'it?" she replied. "The Hero's a good man. And so's his father, the way I hear it told. And, I mean…." She paused and cast a paranoid look around the bar, then leaned in closer and lowered her voice. "I mean, I'm not the sort to question the powers that be, but I can't help but think maybe there's something to this rebellion, you know." Her face lost some of its practiced joviality and Brayden saw a hint of much darker thoughts behind her lashes. "I had some friends taken in the last inquisition. Their families haven't been able to get word from them or find out where they are. They were good people, you understand me? Loyal to the crown. Never had a treasonous thought in their lives." She straightened again, shaking her head. "Makes you wonder."

He offered her a sad smile that wasn't even a little faked. "My son was taken in the first inquisition," he said. "Back at the start of all this."

She paused and gave him a sympathetic look, then shook her head. "Well, I'll pray for you that the Gerudo are here to help and maybe we'll find your son and my friends all holed up in a dungeon somewhere, waiting for rescue." She didn't sound particularly hopeful.

"What else would the Gerudo be coming for?" Brayden asked. "If not to help?"

"Treaty's gone," the barkeep answered with a frown. "Nothing stopping them anymore from seeing if they can do this time around what they couldn't last time around."

Brayden took a slow sip of his drink and then looked up at her. "Well," he said, "to be fair, we did put a price on their King's head and hand him over to his enemies."

"Which is why we're all hoping it's Brayden that called them," she answered.

He shrugged and set his mug back down. "Their King is his son," he pointed out. "I can't imagine he's much happier with us than they are."

"Then why's he fighting this rebellion?" she demanded. "He's been trying to help us."

Brayden sighed. "I don't know," he said. "He's a Sheikah. Maybe duty counts for something after all."

"It's all a moot point anyway," the innkeeper said with a shake of her head. "If Beamos company finds the Gerudo before they get here it's all over. They're some of the best we got, some rising stars in their ranks. Like that Amira lady. She earned her stripes in the battle for Castletown a few years ago. She's fought with Gerudo, she'll know how to fight against them."

Brayden opened his mouth to ask who else might be in their ranks, but was cut off by the sound of someone slamming a fist down on a table with vindictive force. He spun on his stool to look at where Renaud sat.

The ex-Sheikah was still seated, to all appearances calm despite the anger of his tablemate, but Brayden spotted a tightness in his jaw and a vicious glint in his eye. His tablemate – the one who had struck the table – was standing and looming over him, face red.

"Say that again!" he bellowed, oblivious to the crowd staring at him.

"Hey!" shouted the innkeeper. "It's too early in the day for fighting, take it outside!"

Brayden offered her an appeasing gesture and got to his feet to go intercede.

"I don't quite understand the issue," Renaud said. "It was just an observation."

"Well observe it _again_ ," said the man. "I dare you."

Renaud took a lazy drink from his mug before replying. "All I said was that maybe the late Lord Eldrick was worth three of any man content to sit in a tavern and speak ill of the dead, instead of avenging them."

"My sister is one of those dead, you bastard! Taken in the last inquisition!"

"And I'm sure she'd be so very proud of her brother for being a cowardly drunk too scared to do anything _real_ —."

The man was over the table before Renaud could finish and Brayden heard the solid smack of a fist striking flesh. Renaud didn't even try to block it. He and the man went down in a heap, half of their table on top of them. Swearing viciously, Brayden bolted over to them and with the help of one of the other patrons dragged the two apart. The drunk man didn't have a scratch on him, and he chose to interpret that as victory – a misunderstanding Brayden was content to let him have. Especially given that Renaud's face was bloodied and his disguise was marred.

"Out!" the innkeeper was yelling. She came around the bar brandishing a broom in her hand like a maul. "Get them out of my inn!"

Brayden grabbed Renaud's scarf from the back of a chair and threw it into his face before anyone could look close enough to notice anything other than the blood was amiss. "Put pressure on it," he said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder at the innkeeper. "I'll get him out of here and somewhere to clean up. Okay if I settle in a few minutes?"

She gave him a terse nod and he shoved Renaud out into the snowy afternoon.

They didn't speak until they were safely hidden in an alley, just above the sewer grate they'd used to travel to the inn. Brayden released Renaud and watched him lean up against the wall of the building. "You want to tell me what happened back there?" he demanded.

"Not especially," Renaud replied.

"Renaud—!"

"I don't," Renaud cut in acidly before Brayden could continue, "work for you, Brayden of the Sheikah. So don't lecture me as though I'm a supplicant." He held Brayden's furious glare evenly. "I had a moment. I'm over it. Move on."

Brayden stared at him for a long time. "You told me," he said, "when I asked you why you left, why you went passive, that the pay was better and you had more freedom."

"It was and I do. For instance, the freedom to pick fights and lose them as I please without being interrogated about why."

"I don't believe you."

"Would you like to know how much I make?"

"I don't believe those are the reasons you left."

"And why is that?"

Brayden considered him for a long moment before answering. "The way Eldrick looks at you and talks to you, when he's not being the Lord Eldrick, when he's just being the boy Dorian. It's more respect and more thought than he can be bothered to show to his betters, let alone his servants. He defers to you when he's not paying attention."

"I joined the household when he was five. He doesn't remember a time when I wasn't around. And my duties included training him and his siblings. I have been a…mentor to him. An advisor."

"A father?"

"His father is dead."

"One of them."

"Brayden," Renaud said evenly. "I would be a worse father than I was a Sheikah. A father would have helped him filter the lessons his sire taught him. Helped him pull the truth free of the entitlement it was wrapped in. I didn't do that. A father would have helped him understand his own privilege, helped him grow to recognize it, to use it appropriately. I didn't do that, either. A father might have…might have taken his sire to task for failing to teach him self-control, failing to teach him restraint. For encouraging his insubordinate nature, for nurturing his arrogance. The few attempts I might have made at that were weak, at best. A father wouldn't…a father wouldn't… _blame_ him for being the stupid boy he couldn't help but be, _because_ of those failures. Wouldn't blame him for…the consequences." He shook his head, lowered his eyes. "I'm a selfish man. I've always been a selfish man. Too selfish to be a father."

"So get over it," Brayden replied unsympathetically.

Renaud blinked and looked up, startled.

"Being a father isn't about you, Renaud. It's about your kids. You think you're a bad father because you didn't yell at him enough?" He made a face. "I _murdered_ my son."

"That hardly counts," Renaud said with a frown. "You weren't you."

"You think that matters to me?" Brayden replied, something hollow in his voice. "You think I feel any differently about it because of that?" He raised a hand to rub at his face and took in a deep breath. "Look, my point is that I can't change any of that. What I can do is what I'm doing. With his permission, I can do my best _now_ to make up for my failures. I can try to help him. I can try to enable him. I can try to support him."

"Dorian doesn't need the help of a man who can't get past the fact that his father's death was his fault. Twice over."

"You know, I've known a handful of Gerudo in my life, and most of them would tell you that it _was_ his fault. _Directly_ his fault. And that what you're doing isn't blame but recognition." He shifted his weight. "You both have a choice now. Acknowledge the failure, learn from it, and be better moving forward. Or give up, lay down, and wait for death to make it moot."

"I'm no Gerudo."

"Then do what a Sheikah would do," Brayden replied. "Cut your losses, reprioritize, and salvage what you can. But keep your eyes on the end goal." He gestured back toward the inn. "This war's not over yet, and until it is we can't afford that kind of thing happening again. Do what you need to do to deal with your grief. Go to a temple and confess to a priest, write an angry letter and set it on fire without mailing it, or bury your grief down so deep in your heart you forget you ever felt it. But do it quick, because we're out of time."

Renaud didn't reply.

Brayden leaned down and brushed the snow away from the sewer grate. "Your disguise is ruined," he said as he lifted the heavy grate. "You may as well head back. I'm going to hit up the last two taverns on our list and then I need to speak to you and the others."

"About what?"

"I still need to confirm it, but there's a rumour that Durnam knows about the Gerudo and he's sending the army out to meet them first thing tomorrow morning. We need to figure out what we're going to do about it if it's true."

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Renaud said with a frown. "It's too dangerous. What if you're caught?"

"Should have thought of that before you picked a fight you intended to lose," Brayden replied neutrally. He pointed at Renaud's bloody face. "I don't have a choice now. We need confirmation of this before we act, and if it's true we need to act _now_. It's only a couple of taverns, I'll be fine." Renaud didn't move and Brayden's face softened. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Eldrick. I may not have liked him, but I think I know what he meant to you."

"And what is that?"

"Something worth a lot more than a good paycheque and a bit of freedom," Brayden replied. "I would have left for Nat. If it had come to it. If she had asked me to." His expression grew distant and a little lost. "Sometimes I wish she had. Maybe things would have turned out differently."

"Sentimental for a man who just told me to bury my feelings."

Brayden shrugged. "I'm no Gerudo either."

Renaud shook his head, but he moved away from the wall and over to the sewer entrance. He climbed down onto the ladder leading to the sewers. He waited for Brayden to drop the grate back into place and peered up at him through the bars. "I assume it's not the whole army they're sending for the sake of a small squad of Gerudo."

"Just a company as far as I can tell right now," Brayden said. "But that's probably triple the size of the Gerudo force. It's big enough to stop them."

"Did they happen to mention which company?"

"She said Beamos."

It was hard to tell through the blood and the ruined makeup, but Brayden was pretty sure Renaud's face tightened at the news. "I'll gather the others. We'll be waiting for you when you get back." He was gone before Brayden could question him.

Feeling his age twice over, Brayden got back to his feet and left the alley.

He moved quietly through the grey and snowy afternoon, pausing just outside the inn's door. The light inside was warm and welcoming, the noise cheery and amused despite the recent altercation. It felt like a memory. Distant, hazy, and untouchable. Something he understood but couldn't feel.

He couldn't bring himself to go inside.

_Need to let a bit more time pass_ , he told himself to justify it. _Don't want it to look like I just took him to the alley and dumped him._

He leaned up against the wall between the door and the window instead and turned to watch the snow fall. It was thick and silent and heavy. Reminded him of his first Solstice with Natalia and Link. He'd promised Bruiser a year's worth of babysitting if he could convince Impa to let him take Natalia and Link above ground, just for a few days. They'd rented a room at the inn in Kakariko – Bruiser and Aeria and Hunter as well – and it had snowed the entire time. Just like this. It had always amused him that Link's first Solstice was also Natalia's first Solstice.

It occurred to him that Solstice would be a much smaller affair this year.

"Evening, citizen," said a voice to his left. "We're hunting for rebels. Have you seen any?"

"What?" he said, turning to look just in time to catch a mailed fist in the temple.

He heard, in a distant sort of way, banging and crashing from inside the inn, followed by screaming. An alarming number of heavily booted feet stomped past his face to crash through the doors and catch anyone trying to leave through the front. He tried to push himself up but didn't quite get there before a foot caught him in the ribs and sent him back to the ground.

He had just enough time to recognize his attacker's tabard – the symbol for the House of Durnam – before everything went black.

*******

##  **Chapter 26 (cont.)**

I've never been a big fan of silence. I think most people who know me would corroborate that. Mostly because it's boring, but sometimes, like now, because it's painful. Because sometimes being quiet is worse than saying one of the dozens of careless, insensitive things you could say, just to fill that empty space with sound. Just to do something that isn't sitting where you are and feeling helpless.

I want to speak, I have an overwhelming desire to open my mouth and just talk; to say anything – _anything_ – to drive the silence away. But the problem is it's not silence, singular, that I'm confronted with right now. It's silences, plural. And I can't fight them all.

There's the silence that still lingers in the space between Neesha, Hunter and I, left over from Ruto's funeral and our long walk to the Tower. This, I think, would be the easiest to fill, if not for the others. Nayru knows we tried. For a while after we got back we talked about next steps, repeated conversations we'd already had a million times. Talked about anything and everything that wasn't what had happened, or the implications of the devastated orchard around us. Even Zelda, with no understanding of what had taken place after we left, couldn't bring herself to ask. But then we found Anduriel, and the silence returned.

Maybe the worst of the silences is the one coming from Anduriel, who sleeps in a huddle of rags and feathers at the back of the cave Kiki found for her to crawl into after Revanas left. I catch myself, more than once, staring at her to make sure she's still breathing. One of her wings is a charred mess, and when she shivers in her sleep and the burned robe slips a little further down her shoulder I can see her back isn't in much better shape. If I thought she was pale when I first met her, she's worse now, and it's a sort of grey shade that's not encouraging. Her face is badly bruised, the dark purple of it stands out like a flag on her face; it makes her look impossibly mortal. There's a brittleness in her silence, as fragile as the sleep to which she clings. It's an unspoken waiting for the next tragedy, and a bone-deep knowledge that there are plenty of those still out there, stalking her in the dark.

Are angels even supposed to sleep?

And lastly there's the silence between Zelda and I. After we got here and Kiki briefed us in an uncharacteristically somber and straightforward way on what had happened, Zelda and I ran out of reasons to not talk about certain things. I said maybe it would be better if we did the Temple-Of-Time-Projection thing so we could talk in person, and you know what? I don't know that that was the best choice. A part of me is pretty sure that made it harder. I told her about Ruto, didn't manage to keep it quite as together as I would have liked, and then I thought about Nabooru and what she'd said about not coddling her, and since the conversation was already Hell anyway, I figured why not, and I told her about her father.

She said she wasn't surprised about her father and she had really already done her mourning, but her voice was hollow and I know better. And she didn't say anything at all about Ruto, just excused herself as formally as if she were meeting with one of her nobles and ended her side of the contact. The Temple of Time disappeared and left an empty space in my head where she sits when she's watching.

Empty and silent.

So I sit, surrounded on all sides by silences, and wish desperately for something happen. Anything. Even something bad. Let the Moblins find us. Give me something to scream at.

After what seems an eternity of this, Anduriel finally stirs. Kiki is at her side instantly, and Hunter, Neesha and I straighten as she opens her milky eyes and stares blankly at us. I mentally prod the spot where Zelda would otherwise be. I have no idea if she can feel it, but she asked to be here when Anduriel wakes. She has questions for her. Something to do with Revanas.

It takes a moment, but she returns to the edges of my awareness reluctantly. _Sorry_ , she murmurs.

_'Sokay,_ I murmur back.

"You made it," Anduriel says, and exhales in relief. Her voice is so soft it breaks my heart, and her arms shake a bit as she lifts herself up into a seated position. A brief, pained grimace crosses her face as she adjusts her wings. "I'm sorry," she says. "You should have woken me."

"Are you okay?" I ask, and it feels good to have found my voice at last.

She offers me a gentle smile. "Would you believe me if I said I was fine?" she asks, her tone light.

"I would pretend to," I offer.

"Then I am fine, Hero."

"That's good," I pretend. "I'm glad to hear it."

Hunter sucks at this game, though. "Is there anything we can do?" he asks, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes bright with concern.

She settles her hands in her lap and draws herself up as regally as she can manage under the circumstances. "You can end this," she replies. "Bring us to a conclusion at last."

He doesn't know how to respond to that, so he presses a fist to his heart and offers her a sombre nod of his head. He catches my eye on the way up and I clear my throat. "Ah," I say. "So, Laruto is safe with her father," here Anduriel seems to breathe a little easier, "and the Dark Zora are no longer a serious threat. She'll return to her home and be very heavily guarded to ensure she isn't recaptured. Unfortunately, her mother…." I work my mouth to try to say it, but I can't. I said it once already and I don't have it in me to say it again.

"The Sage of Water has passed away," Anduriel supplies gently. "I am aware, Hero." She looks, for a moment, like there's something else she wants to say. Something grim. But she closes her eyes and shakes her head instead. A part of me wants to press, but it's a small part. Easily ignored. "I believe that was part of…part of what caused Revanas to visit my humble realm."

I frown. "No," I say, "Ruto…it happened after. After Revanas got here. In fact, if she hadn't shown up and pushed us to the side we—." I cut myself off and straighten abruptly.

We would have landed on the walkway of the Tower and never landed in the water and never prompted Ruto to rush out to save us, at the cost of her own life.

I suddenly can't breathe.

"Angel of prophecy," Hunter says quietly. He tips his head back against the cave wall and closes his eyes. "Oh my Goddess."

Neesha frowns. "You're saying she did that on purpose?" she demands. "You're saying she did that specifically to kill Ruto?!"

"Yes," I say, anger stirring in the ashes around my heart. It's held down by the moon pearl, no stronger than usual, but it's undeniably the same emotion that spawned the beast. "That's exactly—."

But, "No," Anduriel cuts in quickly. Then she hesitates. "Not precisely."

We turn to stare at her. Her expression is tired and uncertain. "Revanas' motives are rarely that clear," she says softly. "I cannot say I trust them entirely, but…."

"But what?" Hunter asks, frowning.

"Revanas knows more than the rest of us, sees more than the rest of us. She knows every possible outcome of every possible decision, and in very rare circumstances, under very explicit conditions, she is permitted to…manipulate events. To interfere."

Neesha's face is a shade paler than normal. "And Ganon's got her on a leash."

"No," Anduriel says again. "Not…I don't…." She pauses, lifts a trembling hand to her face. She takes a deep breath and restarts. "The three eldest among us – Revanas, Valdyx, and Mudora – were given explicit tasks they are to fulfill, without interference or manipulation from any outside the Goddesses themselves. Ganon may control their bodies, he may control their spirits. He may dictate every move they make, and every decision they take, but he _cannot_ affect their fulfillment of those tasks. Not even death will affect their fulfillment of those tasks."

"Mudora is…the Chronicler?" Hunter hazards. The question prompts a brief smile, tinged with sadness, from Anduriel.

"An old name," she says. "One of her favourites, truly. Yes, that is she."

"Sahasrahla mentioned her," Neesha says, and glances at Hunter for more information.

"The Chronicler is in a lot of our old stories. Legend holds she's responsible for the recording of history – the true history of the world – in preparation for the day the Goddesses return to pass judgement on it. She's forbidden from interfering with the world at all, except to fulfill her duty." He looks like he can't believe that this person is actually real, and that we are actually probably going to have to kill them. "It was the Chronicler who's supposed to have taught us our language. And it's because of her we care so much about recording our history, and why we try to stay out of events as much as possible."

Neesha snorts derisively. "The Sheikah don't stay outside of events," she points out, "you guys have had your fingers in everything since the Great War."

Hunter shrugs. "Application of the policy varies from generation to generation," he admits. "And ours is a very active generation. But the principle is there – we never seek to rule or lead. Merely guide. Maybe the Chronicler can't influence things to get a more favourable Judgement in the end, but that's not the contract we signed."

"And that," Anduriel says with a measure of satisfaction, "your people learned from Revanas. Mudora is responsible for recording history as it truly is, a task she undertakes even now. Corrupted though she may be, her written word is truth and can be nothing less. But Revanas' task is to oversee history before it becomes so. To manage the manifold paths and the tangling of destinies. Under very specific conditions – conditions having nothing to do with what any mortal, even a Triforce carrier, wants – she is permitted to interfere. To prevent or ensure certain things critical to the ongoing stability of Creation as a whole."

"She did a real good job of that," I say, with a disparaging glance out at the ruined orchard, and the rest of the Dark World beyond it.

Anduriel's smile somehow grows sadder. She gestures listlessly. "This is not a threat," she explains softly. "This is an understood and acceptable by-product of certain mechanics central to the world's organization."

I stare at her, open my mouth to argue, but she holds up a hand to stop me. "Link," she says gently, "I understand. I agree with you. But you need to understand that the Triforce is not a person, with a sense of right and wrong. It doesn't judge anything, short of the worthiness of those who try to possess it. And that worthiness is not based on what system of morals that individual adheres to. Everything you see here, all of the mechanics at play, extend from the Triforce. Revanas is not permitted to interfere in the interests of preventing a thing that is simply a natural consequence of a perfectly acceptable event." She sits back and her expression grows troubled. "In truth, while I suspect she _is_ interfering somehow, I have not been able to determine how or why. With the exception of those actions intended to preserve Creation's stability, she should be bound to Ganon's will, operating on his behalf, and yet…."

"She killed a Sage," Neesha notes dully. "Sounds like Ganon to me."

Again that look on Anduriel's face, like she knows something we don't, but again she swallows it. "She did," she says grimly. "But you cannot assume anything about her motives. I have known her to shift the position of a pebble on a road in order to prevent a war. And I have seen her save a life to cause one. And never have I fully understood why. I have found it is better not to wonder."

_She's found a loophole,_ Zelda says.

"What?" I say out loud.

"It's better not to wonder," Anduriel repeats.

"No, sorry, it's Zelda," I say, pointing at my head. "She says Revanas found a loophole."

"A loophole?" Anduriel repeats, curious and surprised.

_Something to do with probabilities, I think. She wouldn't explain it to me, wouldn't even acknowledge she was doing it, but I overheard…anyway, I'm sure I'm right._

I relay this to Anduriel, who mulls it over. "She is bound to Ganon," she says slowly. "She is required to act in his favour. To further his chances of success."

Hunter frowns thoughtfully. "But you said she sees all possible outcomes, right? Is it possible that she's trying to choose between paths that maybe have a forty percent chance of benefitting him—?"

"But a sixty percent chance of benefitting you," Anduriel finishes, nodding. "Yes. Yes I think that might be possible. But it would be unwise to assume that it is so. Again, you cannot tell with her. It's possible she has arranged this specifically to cause us to think this."

"Because it could help us," Hunter notes.

"Or because it could hurt us," Neesha points out.

"You see the challenge," Anduriel replies dryly. "The only thing I can say for certain is that she does nothing by accident, and makes no move without precision."

"How are we supposed to fight something like that?" I demand incredulously.

_I don't think you'll have to,_ Zelda says slowly. _Ask her what 'remaking' means._

I frown. "Zelda wants to know what remaking means?"

Anduriel goes very, very still. "Where did she hear that?"

I relay the answer as Zelda gives it to me. "She says Revanas met with two of the other sentinels – Valdyx and Khol. She left with Khol who's been instructed to remake her in order to circumvent the probabilities loophole."

Anduriel's wings flutter and she makes a small, pained noise that has nothing to do with her burns. "Remaking is…remaking is…." She stops, wraps her hands around each other, starts again. "We are, each of us, bound to the Sacred Realm, and to the Triforce. But the bindings, in very rare cases, may not be complete. Cases like mine, for example, where my tie to Rauru's sealed realm, and to the other two Triforce pieces were enough to bind me to them, instead of to Ganon's piece. Or Revanas', where her abilities left her a means to circumvent Ganon's intentions, despite the binding." She pauses and her face goes distant. "Remaking is a process Ganon devised, whereby our bindings can be adjusted and redone. But our bindings…are what we are. The remaking is…it is not…." She closes her eyes. "Nobernal was the first – the only – he's done it to. She did not…survive the process. So he twisted…so he…."

Kiki, who has been remarkably quiet this entire time, lays a tiny paw on her arm and she comes back to herself at the touch. She rests her hand on his head.

"Zelda says it won't be Ganon. Khol volunteered to do it."

"Oh Khol," says Anduriel, the words like a sigh. She turns her blind eyes on me, but it takes me a minute to realize it's not actually me she's talking to. "Revanas would have known this was to happen," she says. "She likely knew it before Ganon did. I need to know what she said. What she did. Every detail. Anything you can remember, leave nothing out."

"What good is that?" Neesha asks.

"She knew Zelda was listening," Hunter says. "She had to. Maybe there was a message somewhere in there for us. If she really did have a loophole…."

"You don't think this is just us playing right into her hands?" Neesha demands. "Just in case you forgot, she basically _killed_ Ruto."

"Better _we_ hold her accountable for what that cost us," Hunter says slowly, "than let Ganon hold her accountable for whatever invisible benefit it may have given us."

"Guys I can't follow this many conversations at once," I say, putting my hands out. "We can decide what we're doing about it after, for now shut up for a second and let Zelda talk."

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Hey, your Lordliness."

Eldrick looked up from the crude copy of the one good map of the sewers they had. The recruits he was showing it too looked up as well. One of the twins jogged up to them, a strange look on her face. Eldrick frowned at her. "I am making an effort to learn your names, the least you could do is learn the proper form of address." She paused and gave him an expectant look and he hesitated. "…Bel…?"

"So close," she said, "yet so, impossibly far." She paused, and he waited for her inevitable finish. "Your Lordliness."

"I'm trying, here," he said.

"And we appreciate it. Especially since it's so randomly considerate of you." Well, not random unless one failed to consider the new angle of the young Lord's nose and the fact that it and his new found care with words happened to appear around the same time.

"Did you need something?" he huffed.

"Yeah," she said, but her eyes slid over the new recruits and she jerked her head to him to come talk to her privately. He bit his tongue and shoved the map at one of the new recruits. "Memorize it," he told them. "We have these hallways booby-trapped to Hell, you don't want to take a wrong turn." He got to his feet and brushed off his hands, then followed her back a few steps. "So? What is it?"

"It's Renaud," she said. "He's in the Strategy Room just…drinking? He looks like he's been in a fight."

Eldrick blinked at her in surprise. "What do you mean in a fight?"

"I mean his shirt is all bloody and his face is all bruised. Looks like someone clocked him."

"What?! Who?!"

She held out her hands and shrugged. "It didn't look like the kind of thing I should intrude on. I figured since you knew him better…."

He nodded and turned toward the Strategy Room, but she caught his arm. "Hey," she added, "ask him if he knows where Brayden is. He should have been back by now."

He nodded again and she released him. He moved through the room toward the alcove they had designated the 'Strategy Room' (in essence, a collection of crates and boxes with a series of poorly drawn maps tacked to them) – but it had a door, which was really the important part.

Eldrick pushed it open and peered in. "Renaud?" he called. "Are you in here?"

"Dorian," replied Renaud. "This is not a very good time."

"One of the— _Mel_ mentioned you were hurt." He slipped into the room. "What happened?"

"Oh you know," Renaud replied, "nothing that doesn't happen every night in every tavern in the Kingdom. A drunk fool said the wrong thing to an old fool, and one of them paid for it." He shifted and the light fell across his bruised face. Dorian hissed in surprise. "Dorian, it is very difficult for me to avoid slurring right now. I'm serious when I say this is not a good time."

"Who did this to you?" Eldrick demanded. "I'll hang them myself!"

"Leave it, Dorian."

"No one lays a hand on a member of my household without repercussions!" Eldrick snarled. "Especially not you! Tell me who they are and I will—!"

"Dorian!" Renaud cried, cutting him off. "Let it go!"

Eldrick balked, setting his jaw and staring the older man down. "Are you drunk?"

"Is Brayden back yet?"

"No. Are you drunk?" Eldrick paused. "Why wasn't Brayden with you?"

"Because I was feeling sorry for myself, so I picked a fight and lost it on purpose and ruined my disguise by accident. But he had a lead he had to follow. I told him not to, but he didn't listen." He picked up his glass and downed it in one go. "Which is apparently a theme in my life."

"…Renaud?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dorian, let it go."

"All right," Eldrick said after a long moment. "I'll let it go." He crossed the room to take the seat opposite Renaud. "What lead was he following?"

"Looks like Durnam knows about the Gerudo," Renaud answered. "They're sending out the army tomorrow morning. Brayden wanted to confirm it before we reacted." He considered the nearly empty bottle near his hand and looked down at his mug. He did some quick, hazy calculations. "What time is it?"

"After supper," Eldrick replied. "Why?"

Renaud frowned. "Didn't mean to get this drunk. He should have been back by now to stop me."

"I'll send someone out to look for him. Don't move, I'll be right back."

Renaud waved him off. He wasn't entirely sure he could stand up right now anyway. He really hadn't meant to get this drunk. He had thought a glass to settle his temper, take the edge of his black mood. It had worked until about glass three.

_When did I get old?_ he wondered. _Old and angry and afraid of conversations I don't want to have._ He laughed mirthlessly. It had been what? Twelve years? Thirteen. Thirteen years since he'd last seen his father, but he'd somehow still turned into him.

"Nobody's seen him," said Eldrick when he returned. His brow was drawn down in an expression of concern so very like his father's that Renaud took another drink. "I've sent a few scouts. They'll report back shortly. What's this about the army?"

"Rumour is they've called up Beamos company." He watched the young man's face as the implications settled in. "They march out tomorrow to meet the Gerudo in the Field."

"We'll send a messenger," Eldrick replied. "Warn them."

"Thought of that," Renaud replied. "Won't work. The Gerudo won't turn back now, and we can't afford them to anyway. They might try to dodge Beamos, but it's the dead of winter and there are too many of them to cover their tracks. They're not used to the snow, they can't move that fast. They won't manage it."

Eldrick's expression was conflicted. "So, what? We cut our losses?"

Renaud tightened his lips and tried unsuccessfully to beat down the sudden rise of temper in his chest. "Cut our losses?" he repeated. "They're coming from the other side of Hyrule to aid you, and you're content to just let them die en route?"

Eldrick bristled. "I didn't ask for their help," he said.

"But you need it," Renaud replied. He gestured at the door. "You go back out there and you tell all those people, people who chose to follow you, who believe in you, that our reinforcements aren't coming anymore and you're okay with that. You tell them that you're content to let them rot down here until Durnam finally gets the nerve to send the army down after _us_. You tell them that the youngest son of Eldrick is content to let a usurper steal the Hyrule’s throne while their supporters die for nothing in a cold stone sewer."

"What are you talking about?" Eldrick demanded. "You're the one who's sitting there telling me we can't help them."

"And you agreed so quickly," Renaud said bitterly. He scowled and lifted his mug again. "Not a hint of dissent on your lips. Not a pause to consider alternatives."

Eldrick stared at him for a long moment. "Say what you mean, Renaud."

"I did tell you it was Beamos company," Renaud said. "I know I did. I'm not _that_ drunk."

"What does that—?"

"The same Beamos company you served your mandatory with last year. The same Beamos company you spent the whole summer bragging about how many of the Officers owe you favours or are in your pocket." He narrowed his eyes. "The same Beamos company Amira is assigned to."

Eldrick froze. "How do you know that?"

"We didn't _all_ stop talking to her after your father threw her out."

"Renaud!" Eldrick cried, horrified. "You didn't!"

"Of course I did," Renaud snapped. "We'd just lost your brother, I wasn't about to let your father's stubbornness cost us your sister as well."

"Father's stubbornness!" Eldrick repeated, gaping. "Amira's the one who turned her back on us! _She's_ the one who—!"

"Who what, Dorian?" Renaud cut in. "Who refused to turn her back on the people she had fought and bled with? Who had fought and bled for _her_? Who refused to turn in her uniform – the same uniform her brother had _died_ in – so she could live a life of power and privilege, safe from ever having to get her hands dirty again? To play right-hand and protégé to a man who disparaged the very same people who had tried to help her when Nathan was dying on the ground in front of her?!"

"You can't—!"

"Your brother _died_ for this city," Renaud snarled, rising to his feet. "And now you refuse to talk to the one person who could help you save it, so you can respect the foolish, pride-born grudge of a dead man! How very like him."

Eldrick's face contorted in anger. "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"Did you never wonder, Dorian, how it was possible that your House could have such close ties to the throne, yet still be so low in terms of relative power? We were, what? Sixth among the Houses? Fifth on a good day?" He scowled. "Because your father, Goddesses rest his soul, was a stubborn, narrow-minded, short-sighted _fool_ where his pride was concerned. He scorned allies for inconsequential slights. Turned his back on opportunities that weren't the shape he wanted them to be! And he's passed that arrogance down to you."

"And what would you have me do?" Eldrick shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. "Turn my back on his wishes? Reverse his decisions now that he's not alive to argue in defence of them?! How can I do that, Renaud? After I—after what I—." He cut himself off angrily, drew himself up. "No. My father was a wise man. His decisions stand. Amira is no sister of mine, and no member of my household—!"

Renaud hurled his mug across the room and into the wall. It clattered to the floor, spilling what was left of the drink across it. "I was a member of your _father's_ household!" he snarled into Eldrick's startled face. "I served him because I loved him, pride and all! But I will not remain a member of this House if you are going to insist on taking it down the same, tired old path _he_ walked! You got him killed, Dorian, you owe it to him to be _better_ than he was!"

Eldrick's face went pale, shock and anger and a deep wound in his expression. Renaud deflated. Too far, that had been too far. He sagged back into his chair. "This is why I didn't want to have this conversation right now," he said.

Eldrick got to his feet.

"Dorian," he said. "Don't. Sit."

But the young Lord turned his back and moved toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To talk strategy with someone who _isn't_ drunk," came the cold response. "I'll call in my favours with Beamos. Talk to my old friends."

"Including Amira?"

"Get some sleep."

"Dorian—."

"I'm done talking." He reached for the door, but it burst open before he could, throwing him back. "What do you think you're—?!"

"Eldrick! Renaud!" It was the twins.

"What is it?" Renaud asked, dragging his eyes away from Eldrick at the panicked note in his voice.

"It's Brayden. He's been captured."

*******

##  **Chapter 26 (cont.)**

"All right," says Hunter very slowly when I've finished relaying Zelda's information and her answers to their questions, "so there are three main points in that. One, Valdyx now has two Sages in her possession. Two, those medallions are important somehow – also in Valdyx's possession. Three, Revanas is maybe on our side, maybe not, but in X amount of time the maybe will become a definitely not." He glances at me and Anduriel for confirmation.

_That's about right,_ Zelda says as Anduriel nods.

"We have to get the medallions," Neesha says, unexpectedly.

"What?" I say. "Why?"

"Because Ganon wants them," she replies, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world, and clearly I am a massive disappointment for not realizing it. "Because he jumped all over that as soon as he heard about them. We can't let him have anything he wants, everything he wants is bad for us."

I stare at her for a moment, then turn to Hunter. "I have a really hard time disagreeing with that," I note. "Unbiased opinion?"

He thinks about it, then looks at Anduriel. "What are they?"

"What, you don't know?" Neesha demands incredulously. "I thought you were some kind of history nerd."

"Do you have any idea how many libraries in how many cities have been destroyed in the many, many years of Hyrule's existence?" Hunter demands, and I can't tell if he's offended because she called him a nerd, or offended because she questioned his nerdiness. "The amount of knowledge we _do have_ about Hyrule's history is a thimble compared to the Lake Hylia of knowledge that has been lost to us forever."

"The medallions are not in your history books," Anduriel cuts in, "because _we_ took steps to remove them."

_That_ gets our attention.

" _You_ did?" Hunter demands. "The Makani?!"

"We had to," she says. Her expression grows distant and troubled. "They should never have been created. It shouldn't have even been possible!" She falls silent for a moment, then rustles her charred wings listlessly. "It was a very, very long time ago. Not your first incarnations, perhaps, but not far from them either."

Neesha shoots Hunter a questioning look, and he points at me.

"The magic that bound my sister to your sword, Hero, was not recreateable. But many tried over the centuries. The spell that bound your father to a shade is an example of the magic created in those early days. Such foolish mortals, they were. There is a reason so few of them survived to pass down their craft." She goes quiet again, for long enough that we exchange a glance.

"The medallions…?" Hunter prompts gently, drawing her back from wherever it is in her head she'd gone to.

"My sisters and I…we seven, at least, are bound to the Sacred Realm and the Triforce and the Goddesses' Will. For a mortal outside that trinity to bind us is… _was_ unthinkable. But that didn't stop them from trying."

"Someone managed it?" Hunter asks, his expression a perfect picture of surprise.

"Not entirely," Anduriel says. "But close enough. A mage in Hyrule's early days, too clever for her own good, found a loophole. In those days the portals between the Sacred Realm and your home plane were wide open. It was something of a Golden Age, the likes of which I sincerely doubt we will ever see again. She studied under us, my sisters and I. Learned from us. And stole from us. Things we had touched or worn or used. Things upon which we had left a mark. And then she combined those things with earth from our realms and fashioned the medallions of them. And then used very old magic to…well, I supposed you could say she tricked the universe into recognizing the medallions as pieces of the Sacred Realm, but pieces that could be owned. And so owned, could be commanded."

"And you're bound to the Sacred Realm…"

"…and so could be commanded." Anduriel finishes heavily. "But not for long. The medallions are not strong enough to withstand the brunt of our power. Used once, they crumble, and we are free again. But the damage even one request can do…."

We're silent for a long moment as we consider that.

"Totally unbiased opinion:" Hunter announces finally, "Ganon cannot have those."

"What was she going to use them for?" Neesha asks, frowning. "The mage who made them, I mean."

"Failsafes, I believe, in her ongoing war."

_Hell,_ Zelda says, coming to a realization. She swears again, more viciously. _It was me, wasn't it?_

I blink at Anduriel, and point at my head in a question. She nods. _Yeah,_ I say. _It was you. How many freaking times have we been reincarnated anyway?_

_I'm starting to think too many._

"In the end, she used Mudora's medallion to hide the others from us. She tried to command her to erase all record of them entirely, but could not supersede the Goddesses' instructions. So she settled for erasing their hiding places from Mudora's books, so we could not find them. Then she hid the things for her future allies. She had the gift of foresight, as all of her incarnations do. I think she knew what they would be used for, or suspected. Centuries later, Nobernal's was used to gain knowledge of the location of particularly vile magic books, once believed destroyed. They secured a key victory in the Seventh Sage's war, but at unspeakable cost."

Neesha raises an eyebrow. "I thought Nobernal was associated with art or music or whatever. Before she went all…you know."

"And where do the Gerudo keep their history?" Anduriel asked. "In song and story and spoken word. And Nobernal knew them all, for all the races, including many long since passed. Perhaps it is not Mudora's Truth that Nobernal keeps, but it is truth nonetheless."

_Ask her about Revanas,_ Zelda says, her tone too neutral.

_Zelda,_ I say cautiously, _just because one of your past lives—_

_Just ask her!_

"And Revanas'?" I ask, my frown deepening.

She looks at me like she knows who's really asking. "Revanas' medallion was found by another Seventh Sage, much later in history. As clever, perhaps, as the one who created it. She combined it with several other spells – old and ancient magics all – and trapped Revanas in mortal form, on the mortal plane. She bound those spells to the medallion, and then refused to use the medallion, as its destruction would free Revanas. Instead, she used a number of other spells on my sister's physical prison to compel prophecies from her for many years. Again, the battle was won. Again, the cost was high."

"She's not trapped now, though," I say, frowning.

"No," Anduriel replies. "One of _your_ past lives discovered the truth of her, and shattered the medallion."

_Wow_ , Zelda says. _I hope you killed me_.

_Zelda!_

"Ah," Anduriel says in answer to a question I didn't hear. "The Sage who made them also used mine. As I said, I believe she knew what was to come. Understood the thing she had created. And at the end she used mine to summon me, beg forgiveness, and demand mercy."

"Did you forgive her?" Hunter asks.

"I had little choice," Anduriel replied. "I was compelled. So I forgave her. And then I slew her."

Neesha nods like she totally gets that, but I can't help it. I have to ask. "That was mercy?"

"Compared to what my sisters would have done, yes."

"That's four, what about the other three?" Hunter asks.

"Lost," Anduriel replies. "For a long time. But Valdyx searched for them. All who die must take her hand, and she asked them all until she found the medallions and hid them. None of us knew where and that was for the best. The Triforce had been sought and found and lost again several times since their creation. We all knew our current situation was a possibility. And none can keep a secret like Valdyx."

"Until asked a simple question in an inn, apparently," Neesha notes with a derisive snort.

"By a sentinel who can see the future and would know exactly what combination of words to use to prompt that reaction," Hunter replies, his face dark. "She did it on purpose."

"She does everything on purpose," Anduriel replies. "If Valdyx revealed the existence of the Medallions within the awareness of Ganon, then Revanas intended her to."

"Why, though?"

"Because it was also within the awareness of Zelda," I point out.

"And she must have known Ganon would insist on having those restored so he could use them."

"Which gives _us_ an opportunity to get them."

"Or to die in the attempt," Neesha reminds us.

"Well," Hunter notes, "if you'd prefer we can just _let_ Ganon have them."

She considers that. "Fine," she says. "I'm in."

"Hang on, though," I cut in, "I think we should go for Revanas first." I glance at Anduriel and then back to them.

Neesha stares at me. "To kill her you mean, yes?" Her eyes narrow at my hesitation. "Link? Yes?"

"If…we have to," I concede. "But _if_ she's on our side…"

Neesha grunts in an unimpressed fashion. "Big if."

"You didn't see Nobernal. I don't think we can just…leave her to that."

"You know what I _did_ see?" Neesha counters. "I saw Ruto die in a fireball half the size of Lake Hylia."

"Link," Anduriel intercedes gently when I am unable to respond to that for a sudden lack of air. "I appreciate what you are saying, and what you are offering. But to go after Revanas right now is to face two of my sisters at once. The remaking takes time, and Revanas will be functional until she is at least half-way through. And she is not…she cannot truly be on your side. Not entirely. Besides," she adds with a false lightness, "Valdyx is closer."

"And has two maidens," Hunter adds. "And the medallions. And there is only one of her."

"Not entirely true," Anduriel corrects. "Ganon's instructions required her to abandon the duties the Goddesses put upon her. She cannot. So she split herself."

"Is that going to be a problem?" I ask, frowning.

Anduriel shakes her head. "You will need to deal with her physical form. Her...ethereal self is not one you could touch. Nor can she touch you until…well, until it is your time."

"Time for what?" Neesha demands.

Hunter groans. "Angel of Death, Neesha. She's the Angel of Death."

"I'm not sure of the extent of her ethereal self's abilities outside the confines of her duty. Nor of the extent of Ganon's control. Regardless, you cannot do anything about that side of her. Her physical form will hold your friends _and_ the medallions. Focus your efforts there. Kill her body."

"Anduriel," I say hesitantly, "it's okay. You don't have to…help us. Not with this."

She tries to smile but doesn't quite manage it. "We are drawing to a close, Hero," she says quietly. "I will do what I must to bring it about quickly."

Nobody's got anything to say in response to that. For a long, agonizing moment the silence returns. I bear it as long as I can, then I get to my feet – probably a bit too quickly, because the others look at me in surprise.

"Anduriel's right," I say. "Let's get this over with."

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

"Are you a painter? A weaver, maybe? A sculptor?" Indiga frowned when Nidiza did not respond. She leaned over and punched the younger woman's arm, prompting a startled glare from her. "Nidiza. I am attempting to engage you in questionably friendly banter, here. Pay attention."

It was hard to tell through her scarf, but judging by the tightening at the corner of her eyes she was angry. "What is it?"

Indiga stared at her for a moment, then sighed and turned back to the fire. "No. It's gone. You ruined my setup."

"Why are you staring at Rue?" Amplissa cut in before the younger woman could respond.

"See?" Indiga muttered. "Should have taken my bait. Would have been a better conversation for you."

Nidiza ignored this. "She shouldn't be here. I have nothing but respect for her, but this is a combat mission, and she's a li—." Indiga elbowed her hard.

"Don't help her, Indiga," Amplissa said flatly, her voice colder than the wind screaming around outside their shelter. "Let her bury herself."

For a moment Nidiza stared at her, then she cleared her throat. "I was going to say a—."

"I don't care what you were going to say," Amplissa cut her off. "I really don't. Rue is here because she has more than earned the right to be here." An unspoken 'unlike some of you' danced in the hardness in her eyes. "Anybody wants to question that, just go ahead and let me know." She got to her feet before Nidiza could respond and moved toward Rue. The elder Gerudo sat on the edges of their shelter, looking out over the frozen wasteland that used to be a field.

Silence remained where Amplissa had been for a moment, until Nidiza sighed – in anger or frustration was hard to tell. "I don't know what I did to her."

"Okay, newbie, some tips," Indiga said. "First, don't ruin my set-ups. Ninety percent of the time I'm probably just being mean to you, but ten percent of the time I'm might actually be trying to spare you having the conversation with someone else, okay? The fact that I have to explain this to you is already ruining half the fun I get out of watching you try to guess which, but I feel bad for you, so there you go."

"I don't need your pity," Nidiza snapped, an angry huff of breath crystallizing on the outside of her scarf.

"No, but you do need my help," Indiga replied.

Nidiza huffed again and drew herself up, clearly about to argue, but her eyes fell on Amplissa as the latter settled in beside Rue and began speaking to her in low tones. Some of the air left Nidiza's chest. "What's number two?"

"Don't question Rue. I mean it!" she added sharply when the younger woman appeared about to argue. There was a murmur of assent from the other women around the fire. "Amplissa's not the only one who'll tear you to pieces for that. That woman has lived longer and through more than any Gerudo in living memory – including her own. She does what she wants and no woman alive today has the right to question her about it, do you understand me?"

Nidiza's lips tightened underneath her scarf. "I…hear you," she said slowly. "But I'm not questioning her because I don't think she deserves to be here. I'm just—."

"We will carry her to Castletown on our backs if it's required," Indiga interrupted her. "You're young. You don't remember what she did for us during Ganondorf's reign, just by being there. She carried us in ways I can't describe to you, and we owe her for that, do you understand? _She carried us_. And she'll never ask it of us, but there isn't one of us here – one of us who got her promotion before _this_ war – who wouldn't carry her now."

Nidiza shook her head but gave up the argument. "Anything else?" she asked tersely.

"Yeah," Indiga said. "Don't stop being annoying and opinionated just because we're giving you Hell for it. Amplissa doesn't like you. She probably never will. I don't really like you. Get over it. You need to learn to read conversations a bit better than you currently do, but you don't need to back down, you get me?"

Nidiza made a face at her. "No."

"Look. You were a green, I get it. I was too. Spend long enough in administration and law and you start thinking the world actually works that way."

"It does."

"Goddess, have you _met_ our King?" Indiga demanded. "He's never met a rule he couldn't bend, break or work around – and let's be honest. I'm including the so-called laws of nature here." She shook her head. "It works the way you think it does _most_ of the time. It works that way when it can. But there are exceptions. There are always going to be exceptions. More so than usual, as long as our cuddly, cotton-tailed King is around."

"Did I just miss a bunny joke?!" Amplissa interrupted, straightening beside Rue.

"I'll tell you it later," Indiga called back, then returned to her conversation.

"Are you saying we're above the law?" Nidiza demanded, frowning severely.

"No, I'm saying we're below it," Indiga corrected her. "I'm saying _we're_ the ones holding it up, you get me? A system of law is as arbitrary as its creators. The Goddess didn't give us our laws, she gave us our _mission_. Our _oaths_. Everything else is ours. We came up with it, we enforce it, we uphold it. We adapt it. When you were still in your little purple booties chasing other girls around the nursery, we had a King who used our own rules against us. So whatever. Mistakes made. Clarification granted from on high. Lessons learned. Laws changed. Are you following me?"

"Maybe," Nidiza said hesitantly. "What does this have to do with Amplissa hating me?"

"You can't earn her love. To be honest, I'm not even convinced at this point you could earn her like," Indiga answered. "I'm trying to show you how you might earn her respect."

"And those are the secrets, are they? Don't ruin your setups, don't question Rue, and some weird combination of don't back down and change the way I do everything?"

"Never said it was going to be simple," Indiga replied with a shrug. "Glad we had this chat. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to complaining about the cold and making thinly veiled threats on our King's life for sending me in—."

The sound of horses cut her off, and all the women turned to watch, hands moving for scimitars and bows. A moment later, Amplissa gestured for them to stand down. "It's our scouts," she said. "Indiga, Rue, with me. Time to find out just how much fun Phase 1 is going to be."

*******

##  **Chapter 26 (cont.)**

"So," I say, rolling out my blankets on the hard stone floor of the little cave we found to camp in, "how much fun are we looking at tomorrow?"

A full day's worth of travel has brought us to the edge of Valdyx's territory. There are a number of symbols and words scrawled in that space on Zelda's map – some by her, some by Hunter after discussion with Apheri and Anduriel, and what he remembers from Duthie's warnings. Tomorrow we're moving in and it's fun to pretend like we can predict how that's going to go. You know, in a depressing, we-know-better kind of way.

Hunter contemplates the map and flips his pencil back and forth through his fingers. "We have depressingly little intel on what goes on in this region," he reports. "Everybody I asked just gave me an impassioned 'Don't go there' speech. Reasons included death-themed monsters, like stalfos and redeads—," I groan and he ignores me, "—an alarming number of well equipped, surprisingly competent grave diggers with more weapons than sense, an alarming number of graves for them to rob or fill as it pleases them, something Wandi referred to as 'Ghost Grabbers' in that beautifully descriptive way she has, and, just for good measure, the Cult of the Dead."

"I think they might be overstating the theme."

"What's the Cult?" Neesha asks. She's taking first watch and isn't in her bedroll.

"Honestly, Death Cult is all anybody could give me," Hunter replies. "They fight with the Ghost Grabbers – _maybe_ – and also grab ghosts – _potentially_ – and everybody is generally creeped out and afraid of them – _definitely_. I guess you can find them all over the Dark World, but they come from and return to this region."

"So, like, a cult made of dead things," I ask, "or a cult dedicated _to_ dead things?"

Hunter holds out his hands in a shrug.

"This game sucks," I say with a frown. "Let's play I Spy instead."

"We're in a cave, Link," Hunter replies. "A tiny, one-room cave. We can't even see outside from here. Whatever you're spying, it's a rock."

"I would like to again register my displeasure with this camp site," Neesha says. "I don't know why I'm bothering being on watch if I can't see what's coming from here."

"If you can't see out, they can't see in," Hunter replies. "We're fine."

_Did Revanas give you any hints about what we're looking at?_ I ask Zelda as Hunter and Neesha get into an argument – for the third time since we stopped – about whether this is a good camp site or not.

_Not really,_ Zelda replied. _And the Valdyx I saw won't be the same Valdyx you have to face._

_What do you mean?_

_Well, remember how Anduriel said she was split? You have to do something about her physical form. The one I saw wasn't…physical. Not really. She kind of looked physical, but whenever she'd get upset or forget to maintain it, her form would flicker and she'd start to disappear, or her arm would go through the chair she was sitting in. That kind of thing. It won't be that version of her you have to deal with._

_What do you know about the version we_ will _have to deal with?_

_Nothing except the other version doesn't like her,_ Zelda replies apologetically.

_Well, on the upside, you're probably there, right? Maybe we can finally get you out of that crystal and back into your own head._

_I would like that,_ she says. _I would really like that._

_What are you going to do when you're out?_

_Are we pretending it's a given we're going to succeed at getting me out?_

_Zelda, that's more or less how I go through life. It's gotten me this far, just roll with it._

She doesn't respond for a long time. _I don't know,_ she says finally, and I blink in surprise.

_What do you mean you don't know?_

_I don't know,_ she repeats. _I need to go back and…take the crown and set things right in Castletown. And the Sages are struggling and I need to help them. They need my help._

I frown. _But…?_

She hesitates. _But you need my help too._

I soften. _I'll figure it out,_ I tell her. _I've got Hunter and Neesha now. I've got the Moon Pearl. Don't worry about me._

She scoffs. _Stop being worrisome and I'll see what I can do_. But she pauses and I wait for her to say what's on her mind. _I just…keep thinking about what Anduriel told us. About the medallions, and about what I…what some of my past lives did with them. I mean…I_ made _them. I shouldn't have, I can't even comprehend doing something like that, but…I did._

_Another you did,_ I correct her.

_Yeah, another me,_ she says. _But I'm not so sure I can just wash my hands of the things my past lives have done. Maybe…my hands are clean, but my soul isn't. Do you understand?_

_I think so,_ I say at length. _I do, yes._

_And then I look at the mess they're in now. I look at Anduriel, I think about Revanas…it's not that any of that is my fault, it's not. It's just…I feel like there are other things that are, and like maybe…maybe I…_

_…owe them?_ I suggest.

_Yes. I owe them. And if I just…go home after this…leave you to clean up the mess…I don't know. Sometimes it's hard to balance everything, that's all._

_You know I would be more than happy to have you travel with us,_ I tell her. _It's basically what I've wanted for a long time._

_I know._

_But there's also the issue of the Triforce,_ I add. _If Ganon gets_ both _of us…I mean, look at what he's done with one wish. Imagine if he got two._

_True,_ she says. _But imagine if_ we _got it instead._

I blink in surprise. _I…hadn't thought about that._

_I did,_ she says. _I have for a long time._ She sighs. _But it doesn't matter right now. There's a lot to think about, and we've got time before we have to make a choice on any of this anyway. You should get some sleep. I'll talk to you in a few hours._

I debate arguing, but my eyes are actually pretty heavy, so I let it go. _Okay,_ I say. _Good night, Zelda. Try not to do anything crazy while I'm out._

_Was thinking I might throw a party,_ she replies. _Really trash this little crystal house I'm in._

_I love you, Princess._

_Love you too, Hero. Go to sleep._

Her presence recedes from my mind and I try to do as she says, but I find myself staring at the golden mark on the back of my hand for a long time after instead.

*******

##  **A Brief Interlude**

Zelda couldn't decide if she hated Link for needing sleep, or if she hated herself for not being able to in her current state. The first felt unfair and the second unreasonable. It was just frustrating.

The problem wasn't the sleeping, of course. How many times in the course of one day did she wish for more hours than there were to get everything she needed to do done? She would have happily given up sleep if it meant more effective operating hours.

The problem now was that she had lots of hours, they just weren't effective, and she couldn't really operate. She could think, and that was entertaining for the first little bit. But without lords and ladies and servants and citizens and Sages and Heroes to hand off the products of her thinking to for action, or to feed her new information to think about, thinking wasn't really a sustainable practice. Unless she felt like contemplating the meaning of life or something, but she didn't.

She was a terrible philosopher and she knew it. Far too concerned with practical realities.

But there wasn't enough practical reality to contemplate right now. Every time her thoughts lulled – which was often – and she ran out of things to actively, aggressively think about, her mind began to drift back into dark waters. She'd catch herself trying without success to remember the last thing she had said to her father, or wondering exactly when and how Agahnim had killed him; how long had he been dead? Or would reminisce about the first time she met Ruto, and how each of them had found the other insufferable and arrogant, but had united nonetheless in the face of overbearing nursemaids.

Or she would wonder who would die next, while she sat in this crystal and thrashed and screamed and cried to no effect. People who might have otherwise lived if she had been there to help.

She could feel herself teetering on the edge of another dive into those waters – already running through the timeline in her head of her road to this crystal, looking to pinpoint all the places she had failed to be strong, smart, or brave enough to take action that might have prevented it and so much else – when something new intruded on the edge of her senses.

Being in the crystal wasn't a thing that could be easily described, because of course she was completely cut off from her physical senses, so the usual modes of description didn't apply. She couldn't see or hear or smell or taste or feel anything. For all she knew it was dark as pitch or bright as day in there physically. What mattered was what she could detect with her mental senses, and none of the languages she spoke had useful words for that. The closest she had been able to come, when Link had asked her, was to speak in analogies and metaphors. To say that it was sort of like being in a glass box that was covered in frost. She could, to a very limited extent, watch the play of shadows on the ice as the world moved around her. She could tell when the shadows belonged to people, and she could tell that no matter how hard she tried she wouldn't be able to get to them. The Dark World had wrapped them in a different kind of ice, and that she couldn't penetrate.

But the shadow she could sense now didn't feel the way they did. Nor did it feel like the monolithic (and unresponsive) shadow of her new angelic captor. It was a person, she was sure of it, but something was different about them.

And something was familiar.

She stretched out her senses tentatively, scraping at the metaphorical frost to get a clearer look at the person on the other side. She knew better than to hope that it was a friend, but she'd settle for another pair of eyes she could access, even just for a moment. Just long enough to figure out where she was and what was around her.

_Hello?_ she called mentally. _Can you hear me?_

No response.

But no rejection either. No cutting off. No impenetrable, raging force field around the other person's mind, like there were with every other mortal she'd tried this on.

She turned her scraping into burrowing and started chipping a hole for herself. _If you can hear me, don't answer out loud. I can't hear you physically yet. Try to speak to me in your head._

Still no reply, but still no rejection. She forced herself to temper her curiosity with caution. This wasn't the place to be taking risks, or assuming safety. The promise of an opportunity to get a look at where she was (and, more specifically, not spend the night picking apart her own decisions until Link woke up to distract her) was too great not to explore, however. She just needed to be careful.

She slipped her consciousness out through the hole she had burrowed and into the mind of the shadow on the other side of the glass. She expected to land in a tiny corner of the other person's mind, like she did when she reached out to Link or Revanas. A place where she could communicate easily, and observe the world through her host's senses, but where she remained removed and separate.

Instead, it was like stepping too quickly onto a steep slope. She fell before she could catch herself, surprised by the incline and the space and the lack of anything to stop her. When she landed it was immediately clear that she wasn't limited to a tiny corner. She was taking up the entire space. There was no one else in there.

She blinked, and the eyes she was staring out of blinked with her. She straightened, and so did the spine she had borrowed. She froze, startled and alarmed and appalled at the implications of these observations, and so did the body she was in.

_What…the…Hell…?_

She turned the face down to look at the body. Good boots, scuffed but comfortable. A ragged, dirty skirt, lined with geometric patterns and hidden under a torn apron. A well-made blouse half-tucked in, in a similar state of disrepair, collared with a tan bandana tied loosely around her neck. A curtain of carrot-coloured bangs slipped from behind an ear to obscure her view.

_It can't be!_ Zelda gasped.

The hands were holding a heavy bucket of water, and Zelda tilted them to peer at the wavering reflection on its surface.

It was.

_Malon! Malon, it's me! It's Zelda!_ She winced and the face winced with her. _I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…to…take over like this, that's never…it wasn't…oh my Goddess. Malon, are you okay? Can you hear me?_

No response.

_Malon?_

A loud rumbling startled her into turning the head to look up and to the left. She was in a large chamber that might have been a ball room once upon a time. The floor was slick with something thick and glistening. The lighting was dim, but she could make out hazy, transparent shapes, like people, shuffling around aimlessly. A large, bulbous shape glowed in the centre of the room, providing most of the available light. It undulated in a way that was familiar to Zelda, but that she couldn't place. Every now and then lightning arced out from the shape to strike one of the transparent people – ghosts? – and they would scurry off, possessed suddenly by some unknown purpose.

"What the Hell?" she said with Malon's voice.

The rumbling started again and she realized the bulbous shape was moving – upwards, in fact. As it parted from the floor it became clear that it wasn't the shape that was glowing, it was whatever it had been sitting on. The glow from the pit beneath it pulsed and danced, and the ghosts in the room turned and began to move toward it.

Long, thin tendrils descended from the underside of the bulbous shape, like the ribbons on a maypole, and lightning arced between and around them. It snapped and whipped these tendrils out at the ghosts, driving some back from the pit, and forcing others into it.

It wasn't until it had turned, and the glow from the pit underneath it illuminated the single, massive eye staring straight at her that she realized what it reminded her of.

A bari.

A giant, electric, jelly-fish of a bari.

She stumbled back in Malon's body as it advanced on her. She dropped the bucket and began to search every pocket she could find for a weapon. But Malon had been taken while at home, eating supper with her family. She had none. _Malon! Malon, talk to me! Malon, I need your help, you need to tell me—!_

She didn't get the chance to finish the sentence. One of the giant bari's tentacles shot out from it and wrapped around Malon's arm before Zelda could make the unfamiliar body dodge. Lightning raced along it and she had just enough time to recognize Revanas' ring – the one set with the crystal that held her body – looped onto the tentacle before the lightning hit and her world went white. Pain seared through her (through Malon? Through both.) as the lightning cut her free of the body and dragged her back toward the ring in its grasp. It threw her unceremoniously back into her frosted prison, and the world faded behind the obscuring ice and the haze of pain.

Malon's shape beyond the frosted glass picked itself up and went back to whatever it had been doing before. Zelda watched it, lost in pain and confusion.

_Malon?_ she called one last time, but she could hear the hopelessness in her own voice. She curled in on herself and waited for the tingling pain in every metaphysical inch of her to pass so she could think straight. So she could try to understand what had just happened. What she had just seen.

_…hello?_

Zelda froze. Wondered, for a moment, if she had thought that and didn't remember. Maybe the shock had affected her—

_Hello? Can anyone hear me?_

_Malon! Malon, it's me! Princess Zelda!_

_Princess?_ She sounded sleepy and confused. _What's going on? Where am I? Where are you?_

_I don't know,_ Zelda replied and felt dangerously close to a giddy sort of panic. _I thought you were out there, but I shouldn't be able to hear you if you are, unless—_ She cut herself off. Unless Malon _wasn't_ out there. Unless Malon was here, somewhere nearby. Probably clutched in another tentacle.

But that had definitely been her body out there.

Which was impossible, unless—

Unless….

_Oh my Goddess._

_Princess,_ said Malon, her voice tight, _I'm trying to keep from panicking right now, so I hope you'll forgive any impropriety on my part, but I'd appreciate it if you'd start from the beginning maybe, because right now I'm lost._

_Malon…you have no idea_.

*******

##  **Chapter 26 (cont.)**

I wake up to Neesha kicking me on her way to do the same to Hunter.

I suck in a breath to start swearing at her, but instead of air I inhale smoke and suddenly can't do much of anything but cough. Well that explains why she's waking us up.

"What's happening?" Hunter asks, pushing himself up. He grabs his scarf and ties it around his nose and mouth. "It's our first damn night on the road, what could possibly be happening already?!"

"Don't know," Neesha replies, dropping into a crouch below the smoke. "But there's nothing in this cave to burn and this started like thirty seconds ago, tops."

"Too much smoke for thirty seconds," I say hoarsely.

"Somebody's smoking us out," Hunter says. His face is grim.

"So an ambush," Neesha says. "Whatever. We can handle it."

Hunter and I exchange a look.

"Please don't give me the 'you haven't been in the Dark World long enough' talk again," she says.

"Well you haven't," I reply. I pull my Kokiri pouch off my belt and drop it on the ground. "Shove everything in there just in case. We don't have long before we run out of breathable air in here." I pull my hat off and cover my nose and mouth with it.

"Plan?" Neesha asks, rolling up her bedroll with military efficiency.

"Hard to say without knowing how many are out there," Hunter says, shoving his into my pouch.

"Or what they are," I add. "I mean…most of our canned plans don't account for vampires or werewolves or half the other things we've run into so far."

"Well they didn't try to take us while we slept, so they're smart enough to know we're a problem. But they still think they can take us."

"Forget their abilities," I say, grabbing my pouch and fastening it again. My eyes are starting to water and the smoke is getting lower and lower. "We don't have time to figure it out. If you were going to ambush someone in here, how would you do it?"

"I wouldn't ambush them, I'd walk in and call them on," Neesha says.

"That's why I wasn't talking to you," I reply dully. "I was asking Captain Cheap Shot."

"I resent that," he says, but Neesha starts coughing and reminds him of more important things. "I'd have my group positioned on the hill this cave is in – above the entrance. That way when my quarry comes running out they're facing the wrong way, _and_ half blinded, and I can pick them off at range."

"Got it," I say. "So I go first and throw a deku nut up there. Gives us time to get up there while they're still screaming and clutching their eyes." They both nod. "Call your targets as you pick them. Hunter, you go left, Neesha, right. The slope is gentle – I'll keep the bow going from below to cover you."

We turn without needing to confirm it and crawl below the smoke to the entrance. "Ready?" I ask, putting my hat back on and pulling two deku nuts from my pouch.

"Ready," they reply.

I push myself to my feet and out into the pre-dawn grey. I whirl as I leave the cave, eyes burning, throat stinging from the smoke. I can just barely make out a handful of dark shapes lurking between the rocks on the hill, but I don't wait. I hurl the deku nuts high, one to the left and one to the right. An arrow slices across my arm just before they both strike and go off. I hear a satisfying chorus of shouts and snarls, and then Hunter and Neesha are out and bolting up the hill.

"Bird woman!" I hear Neesha yell, followed immediately by a loud, strangled squawk.

"Big teeth!" Hunter replies.

I dart out of the smoke and drag my bow off my back. I fumble to grab an arrow as I blink my eyes to clear the smoke from them. I get it nocked and raise the weapon just in time for a large shadow to fall over me. I glance up. It's a bare-footed man with a fur-covered face, tiny, beady black eyes and a star-shape where his nose should be. Unlike the rest of his companions, he was not blinded by the deku nuts, because he started out that way. He's perched on top of the cave's entrance and has his own bow and arrow pointed at me, using – what? Echo-location? I don't know how moles work, but whatever he's using it's better than regular vision, because despite the thick smoke between us he doesn't look to be having any issues pointing that arrow right at me.

We loose our arrows at the same time, but he had time to aim and I didn't. Mine sails just past his ear and his lands squarely in my thigh.

"Mole-man!" I shriek as I go down and my bow scatters from my grip. "Mole-man!"

"Are you calling him or screaming for help?" Neesha shouts back from somewhere up the slope. "Round thing!"

" _Help_!"

Mole-man's got another arrow nocked and pointed at me, but the next second there's a blurr of blue behind him and he goes sailing off the ledge with a knife in his back. "You good?" Hunter asks from above.

"Peachy-keen," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Hunter, call something already I can't take them all!"

"Chimera lady!"

I can't even see what they're doing because of the smoke and my angle. This is amazing. I am amazing. Neesha is never going to let me live this down. Not enough I turn into a bunny, I've got to go down two seconds into a throw down with a rag-tag pack of bandits.

I snap the shaft of the arrow in my thigh, groaning as I do so, and then drag myself over to where my bow is. Farore, that hurts! That's going to slow us down. Great. _Amazing._

Day hasn't even started yet and it's already going fantastically. Hello, Farore. Hello, Nayru. Nice to see you again, Din.

Glad you Ladies could make it.

I get my hand around my bow and force myself up onto my good leg with an effort, nocking another arrow.

Whatever benefit the deku nuts bought us has officially worn off. Add to that the fact that there are more bandits than I thought, and it occurs to me that we might be in trouble.

"Dibs not taking the like-like!" Hunter shouts.

"Dibs!"

"Dib—I'm injured you assholes!"

"You're also ranged!" Hunter shouts back, right before getting cracked in the ribs with the business end of a mace by the three-headed-lady he's fighting.

"Arrows don't grow on trees," I mutter, putting my first one in the head with the longest neck to driver her back from Hunter. He's back up and on his feet the next instant, so I turn my bow toward the like-like – which, disturbingly, appears to have a face half-lost in the folds of its gelatinous flesh. I fire and reach for another arrow as the like-like shudders and starts lurching toward me.

As I loose the second arrow into it I see something flicker up on the hill. A half second later I see the same flickering to the left of me, on the edge of my vision. I turn to look just in time to catch somebody's fist in my stomach. I crumple like a ragdoll, thanks to my wounded thigh, and a foot catches me in the stomach and sends me flying.

I force myself up onto my hands and knees with a groan, finding unexpected comfort in the complexity of the sudden murderous urge I'm feeling. Complex is good. Means it's just me. It's not the Beast.

As much as I could use the bastard right about now.

I look up and meet the eyes of my attacker. It's a lady – I think. She keeps flickering and shifting in and out of sight.

"Snakes-for-han—agh!"

"Hunter!" Neesha shouts, enough tension in her voice to make my heart sink. Something up there screams. "Link! I can't get to him! Where's that covering fire?!"

"Coming right up!" I call back. I harness my anger and use it to force myself back to my feet. I reach over my shoulder to draw the Master Sword, but my opponent laughs – a strange, half-close half-far sound – and her form flickers and disappears. I see the flickering in the corner of my eye again and I turn to meet it, but I'm not fast enough. Her fist cracks across my face and sends me flying back and down to the ground.

"Neesha, behind you!" Hunter snarls from somewhere up the hill.

He sounds like he's far away and under water. It's hard to hear him under the ringing in my ears. I groan and roll over, shaking my head to try to clear it. But even after the stars fade from my vision and the sound of the battle clears, the ringing doesn't stop.

The flickering woman is moving toward me again, still laughing her weird laugh. In her hands is Hunter's knife – she must have taken it from the mole-man's corpse – and in her eyes an eager, bloody gleam.

I try to rise but I'm too dizzy – last fall dragged the arrow out of my thigh and I'm bleeding in earnest now. My arms are already shaking.

I can't believe this.

_This_ is how I go out?

Murdered by run of the mill highwaymen.

But she pauses above me, knife ready, and cocks her head to the side. It occurs to me that maybe I'm not the only one hearing that ringing. Her face twists into a scowl and she whips the knife down at me.

As the gleaming blade leaves her hand, the bell peals three, rapid-fire notes, and stops ringing.

There's a rush of wind, strong enough to knock Flicker Lady back a step. Something bright and gleaming and partially transparent slides through the air above my face and strikes the knife away with a sharp clang. Flicker Lady's face goes angry and scared. "Death cult!" she screams to her colleagues as she turns to run. Her form starts to flicker. "Scatt—!"

There's a blur of red above me and Flicker Lady's shout cuts off with a wet gurgle. Her form solidies, the flickering stops, and she slides to the ground with blank eyes and a boneless thud.

I feel another, bigger rush of wind, and before I can get a look at my rescuer I realize whoever they are, they didn't come alone. I struggle up onto my hands to stare in surprise as a large group of armed and armoured fights appear out of nowhere, swept in with this sudden wind, and join the fray on the hill. Hunter and Neesha come to a bedraggled, bewildered stop as the fight suddenly moves on without them.

The bandits are already breaking, warned by Flicker Lady's dying shout. They flee up the hill, scattering in every direction, but the new arrivals aren't content to let them off that easy. Half of them chase the runners, cutting them down effortlessly when they catch up. The remainder polish off any bandits unable or unwilling to run.

I gape at them, my blood-to-brain ration too low to process what I'm seeing.

They're ghosts. All of them. Like Hunter's mum was, but without the lost expression, without the aimless sort of wandering, without the clear level of effort required just to stay focused on their task. They walk back down the hill as casually as if they were still alive, not speaking, not cheering, but expressions alert, present.

I look right through them to see Hunter and Neesha's stunned faces on the other side. Hunter meets my eyes across the distance, confused and startled, maybe struggling with his own blood-to-brain ratio. But then his eyes fall on something near me and his face goes paler than the ghosts around us, his expression absolutely stricken.

I turn to see what's startled him so badly and my eyes fall on my original rescuer.

Above me, scimitar gleaming in her hand, face hard, unyielding, and see-through, stands Jinni of the Red.


	28. A Pocket Full of Bombs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 2020, huh?
> 
> For those reading on Ao3, I know I uploaded the rest of the story like two months ago, but the previous chapter was first uploaded to ff.net in July 2014, so actually it’s been six years since the last update. I mostly point this out to manage expectations for new readers! Hello! Welcome! I am very slow, but I promise 95% of updates will be long.
> 
> For those reading on ff.net, I see you, I love you, I cannot believe we are all still here (the metaphysical here of this story, not the digital here of ff.net). Nineteen years and counting, my God.
> 
> Obligatory decennial reminder that I will be done with this story only when I say I’m done with this story, no matter how long the updates take. In the unlikely event I do decide to give this up before it’s done (but I mean, I started in 2001, and I’m still here, so), I will post, via my official accounts on ff.net, Ao3, tumblr and twitter (rosezemlya on all!). But I haven’t yet and I’m not planning to.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read after all this time!
> 
> Rose Zemlya

## A brief interlude

They sat on a hill – the Shepherd and the shadow – overlooking the small camp below. Fires glittered against the dark ground like fallen stars glaring up at the unfeeling sky that had cast them down. Most of them were occupied only by Wanderers, translucent and flickering in the warm light, but all had been started and were maintained by the other Shepherds. The ghosts couldn’t touch the fire, couldn’t feel its warmth, but something about its light helped to keep them here, in the present, despite the universal forces that picked at them, frayed their edges and tried to inch them toward oblivion. Despite the once popular depictions of their craft, the Shepherds’ magic had always worked best in the light.

But they were a long way away from the days when the people of Hyrule knew them with any familiarity, and the Triforce had done them no favours when it changed everything. Roaring campfires were the best they were going to get for light these days, and they needed it badly tonight. They needed the Wanderers alert and ready, for what the Shepherd on the hill wasn’t sure, but she had been alive a long time, and seen an unfair share of troubles during it. Certain elements of the evening’s events had yet to be made clear to her – though she was certain the intangible being at her side had a better picture, which it could not and would not share – but the _how_ of the current situation was irrelevant in the face of the _what_ of it. And the what of it practically guaranteed trouble.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said eventually. Her tone was light but was carried on deep tides.

“It’s not a good sign that I have,” the shadow responded. It was hard to make the shape out against the night – reduced, as it was, to the hint of movement at the edge of her vision – but the presence was tangible, even if the one radiating it was not.

“Good or bad,” she pointed out, “is often a matter of perspective, and this situation is too complex for either label.”

They both carefully avoided talking about the newcomers in the camp below. They were easy to pick out. From the top of the hill, their presence seemed to turn the whole camp into a whirlpool, if you were the Shepherd, or a galaxy, if you were the shadow – spirits and bodies rotating in a spiral no one on the inside could see, caught as they were in the push and pull of forces that could not and would not be denied, drawn inexorably toward a single point made of the closest thing left to Divinity this poor, bereft world could claim.

Many things would be easier if they _could_ talk about them – many things, throughout history and in their own lives, would have been easier if they had just been better about talking to each other generally – but at least in this case it wasn’t a failure of courage or ethics or the common sense Nayru gave a rock that kept the talk to the edges of the situation. In this case it was the fact that you never knew who might be listening, except when you did, and you didn’t want him to have any more of a warning of what was to come than he already did.

The silence between them returned for a time, enveloping them in a way that was neither companionable nor awkward. Their history was an ocean they had long ago learned to navigate without fear, if not without regrets. 

“Are you sure about this?” the intangible shadow asked, after a long space had passed. “About what you’re planning to do?”

“Do you presume to know what I plan?” the Shepherd replied, amused.

The hissing sigh this earned her was one she was familiar with, and on some level she was pleased she could still draw it forth. “I might not be the smart one, but it doesn’t take a mage,” the shadow noted sourly. “You knew who he was before your ghosts got to him.” 

“Wanderers,” she corrected automatically. “And I’d like an idea of his plans before I come up with my own.”

“They’re not hard to guess either.” This it said with a unique mix of bitterness and grumbling. “He’s got a sword. He’s going to stick it in a thing. That seems to be as subtle as he gets.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” she asked. She didn’t need to be gentle with the question, but she was. That much comfort she could still offer.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“It matters to me.”

This was greeted with silence, and if she couldn’t see the figure sitting beside her, she could at least picture its shoulders, tense with anger and frustration for a beat, then loosening and sliding into a sag, too tired to fight. “It is.”

“Change is never easy, old friend.”

“I wouldn’t know,” it replied, the barest hint of its old flippancy playing along the edges of the words, “I’ve never had to do it before.”

The silence returned, but neither of them moved. Not until duty called them both away; the one, to the camp and its portentous visitors, the other back to the work that was the only constant anyone could count on in this poor excuse for a Cycle.

***

“She’s not here yet,” Eldrick pointed out. He adjusted the visor on his helmet for the thirtieth time in as many minutes and shot a less than furtive glance around the crowded campsite.

Liam shot him an amused look, mostly hidden by his own helmet. “She’s a Sheikah, Dorian. You really think the rank and file could make her when she doesn’t want to be made?” The name felt strange in his mouth – _Dorian_. Liam was the son of two weavers; if it weren’t for his (former) position on the guard and his (current) position among the loyalists (a position he was still not entirely sure he merited or could sustain), he’d never have gotten so much as a good seat to watch the nobles pronouncements from. Calling a noble by their first name wasn’t something that he would have previously believed to even be on the list of probabilities.

But, as Eldrick ( _Dorian_ ) himself had pointed out, calling him Lord Eldrick while surrounded by an entire battalion of the Royal Army was a shortcut to the hangman’s noose for all of them. At least until he’d waved his magic wand over their commanders and either taken the battalion over or brought their desperate little party to the hangman by a different route.

He still wasn’t sure what to make of the young noble’s addendum, however: _Of course, you’re always welcome to refer to me as such in private, you know. I believe you’ve earned the privilege._

The words were clear enough, but there had been something else lurking behind them, something not entirely about Liam. Something had happened between Dorian and Renaud, Liam knew that much. The young head of House Eldrick hadn’t even said goodbye to the former Sheikah when they’d left, and as far as Liam knew, except for the late Eldrick senior, Renaud was all Dorian had. 

Made him wonder if Eldrick wasn’t, maybe, just a little bit lonely.

They’d see how long the casual friendship lasted if they managed to right things and Eldrick went back behind his gilded gates again – Liam wasn’t naive – but he’d never been one to turn away from a person in distress, and whatever was going on in his household, Eldrick ( _Dorian_ , damn it was hard) was definitely that.

“She should have been here by now, we have to call it.”

“Dorian,” Liam said, firmly so as to draw the fretting noble’s eyes to him. “What’s wrong?”

“His big sister’s close,” said a third voice, and they both jumped as Bel slipped out of the shadows that lurked between the many rings of firelight that marked the rough shape of the camp Beamos Company had set in the shelter of a long stone ridge. If you climbed to the top, you’d be able to see the portal the Gerudo were heading for, as well as a few likely intercept points for the Company to take advantage of the next day. Command, however, had made it clear that climbing the ridge would only serve to give away their position to the Gerudo, and also net any aspiring mountain goats a night under lock and key and a two-week dock in their pay. As far as she’d been able to see, no one had tried it yet. She brushed the snow off her shoulders and took a seat between the boys as casually as someone who’d just run out to use the washroom, as opposed to someone who had crawled all over a military camp scouting out officers who might be willing to be a little bit treasonous. “It’s giving him the shivers.”

“I am not shivering,” Dorian protested, offended.

“Un-straighten that back, man,” Bel replied, unbothered in the face of his huff. “Soldiers aren’t that prim. Hard to be when you’re carrying twice your weight in gear through snow up to your hips.”

Dorian huffed. “I _was_ a soldier, you know.”

“Officers – especially noble ones – don’t count,” Bel replied with a shrug. “I don’t believe for a second you carried your own gear.” She held her hands out closer to the fire to warm them and glanced at Liam. He was, as usual, staying politely out of the conversation. “His sister did, though, did you know? Not in her first year of duty, but after the Battle for Castletown. Something in her changed, or so the story goes. She started carrying her own kit, eating with her soldiers. Resigned her commission and enlisted the usual way instead. She is where she is now because she earned as much of it as she could the hard way.”

“She betrayed us,” Eldrick snapped, face rigid with anger. The thing that Liam had sensed in him earlier darkened the shadows behind his eyes. Made him look younger – no, that wasn’t right. Made him look his age. Just eighteen, though it was easy to forget in present circumstances.

“Sounds to me,” Bel countered neutrally, “like she _left_ you. That isn’t the same thing.”

Dorian curled his lip at her. “And what would you know about it?” 

Something in her eyes hardened in a way that sent a nervous spasm up his spine. He realized he’d made a mistake, but he wasn’t sure what, and her reply, when it came, was like ice – cold and brittle. “I know more than you’ll ever know about leaving something you love for someone that needs you more.” The moment passed before he could think of a reply, and she turned her eyes to the fire. “Either way, I think we’re going to need her. These soldiers love her. Like to the point of fanaticism. I honestly think she’ll be good enough on her own if we can get her. Forget the others.”

Dorian swallowed and didn’t take his eyes off her. “Amira’s not what we need,” he insisted, but more cautiously. He may not have wanted to admit his sister would be helpful, but even he couldn’t deny that they needed Bel if they were going to achieve anything. “I have plenty of pull with the others.”

Bel gave Liam a look and he fidgeted unhappily. “We only have tonight, Eld—Dorian. Before we get too close to the Gerudo for this to work. We need control of the battalion before sunrise. If… your sister is the fastest way—?”

“I’ll hit Harker first,” said Dorian, as though he hadn’t heard Liam speak, despite how close they were all sitting. “Durnam had his uncle killed, not prettily either, it shouldn’t be hard to bring him over to our side.”

Liam looked at Bel and shrugged, prompting the young woman to sigh, but she pointed down the rough path between the tents. “Big blue tent to the west. We’ll give you five minutes then follow and run interference on anyone who might interrupt.”

“Busy night tonight,” Dorian said, rising to his feet. “Let’s get it over with.”

***

## Chapter 27

It’s hard to believe, but the night is still young, despite the fact that we tried to sleep through it, and then we got into a fight, and then I got saved by the literal ghost of a long-dead friend, and then I lost consciousness from blood loss. You’d think that would have taken more time. Or at least that I’d have hit that sweet spot where the blood loss stops, but I get to stay unconscious until all the complicated stuff goes away.

No dice.

“So let me get this straight,” I say, “your death cult is neither a cult dedicated to the worship of death, nor a cult made up of dead things, but a cult dedicated to _helping_ dead things?”

“Dead _people_ ,” stresses the man sitting in front of me, in a tone that is basically begging me to please, Nayru, Farore and Din, just _internalize_ this information already, “and we’re not a cult. We’re not even technically a religion, though most of us are religious. But otherwise yes.” Did I mention he’s a skeleton? Like, he’s wearing a robe, but under it is just bones, no flesh. And his head is a skull. So, like, what are expressions? Do you know how eerie this makes everything he says?

“And you help them…”

“Take the place the Goddesses intended for them in the cycle of life and death.”

“Is that really a cycle, though?” Neesha asks. She’s not normally pedantic, but she’s tired and cranky and this guy was apparently unnecessarily rude to us before I woke up, and, like, so is Neesha generally, but that’s _her_ job, not some _outsider’s_ , so now she’s being what you might call a hostile witness, except the only thing she’s witnessing is how long it will take, between the two of us, to make a skeleton cry.

Besides, Hunter’s not paying enough attention to be pedantic for us, so somebody’s got to step in.

“What?” says the skeleton (his name is Osae, but we have decided without needing to discuss it that we will not use it until he stops trying to lecture us to death, which doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen any time soon).

“Life and death,” Neesha clarifies. “You’re born. You live. You die. That’s a line, not a circle.”

“I don’t…really want to debate philosophy with you,” he says. Have you ever seen a tired skeleton? Because I have.

“And what is it, exactly, that you help these dead people do?” I ask as I throw an exaggerated look at the camp around us, which is largely populated by ghosts. They move back and forth between the handful of fires, the image of them flickering through what I think might be memories. Their clothes and expressions and ages change as they do it, and they’re often speaking in a voice I can’t hear, to people I can’t see. They don’t seem _un_ happy, I suppose, but they’re ghosts, so who knows.

“I just said—”

“What you just said was unhelpful. I’m looking for something more concrete than a religious essay.”

“I can’t just—”

“Let me put it another way,” I say, feeling my ever-too-thin patience stretching taut in a dangerous way. I lean forward so he understands that I mean this in a very particular way that promises a very particular kind of action if I don’t like the answer: “What are you doing with the ghosts of my dead friends?”

As though summoned, there is a flicker behind him and suddenly Jinni of the Red and Ketari of the Sheikah are standing there, in all their impossible, translucent glory. I’m still not a hundred percent sure how aware they are, but the look on Jinni’s face suggests that she thinks I could take it down a notch or two, and the look on Ketari’s is a reminder that she’s always been a fan of a good show, which tips me a little further toward ‘generally aware’. There are a series of complicated feelings this evokes in me, but I very calmly take those feelings and put them in a box, wrap that box in chains, dig a hole deep down inside myself, and bury them there, so that I can continue on with the business of bullying this skeleton into answering my questions.

I have no idea how the skeleton is taking my poorly veiled threats, of course, because his face is incapable of emotion, but he doesn’t reply right away. I keep my eyes on him to let him know I’m waiting, but right when I think he’s about to finally say something, someone lays a hand (fully fleshed) on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Osae,” says Mauna, his boss. We like Mauna better so far, but only just. “I’ll take it from here.”

Muttering something that sounds equal parts relieved and offended, Osae gets to his feet and abandons the field.

“You’re worried about our intentions toward your friends,” Mauna says as she takes his place. “Understandable. I swear that we have neither harmed them nor compelled them against their will. Is this your first interaction with the ghosts of the deceased?”

Neesha nods yes and I shake my head no.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, let’s start with the basics, then, just in case. When you die, your soul comes here, to the Sacred Realm.” I open my mouth to comment, but she’s apparently smarter than Osae because she cuts me off before I can speak. “The Dark World is the name that people give it in its current shape because they are frightened and bitter that it does not match their expectations, but it is still the Sacred Realm. In any form, that’s what it is. And sooner or later, it’s where people go when they die. At least for a time.” She holds my gaze until I grudgingly cede the point. Not the first time it’s been made, after all, but the distinction feels important to me, on a personal level, and so I continue to remind people of it.

Satisfied, she continues. “Where they go after that is a subject much debated by theologians of all stripes, and although there is an answer to the question, we prefer not to share it. That people and peoples have their own interpretation is a good thing. That they search and question and discuss the subject is something we think the Goddesses would have approved of. And also, a thing that is not known is a thing that is vastly more difficult to exploit. Because they do go somewhere. And that process is a key one, which helps to drive the Divine Systems that keep our world living and growing and thriving.”

I feel the log I’m sitting on shift as Hunter comes to sit beside me. I was going to complain about how this was all very interesting (to a subset of the population which is not me) but I asked a very specific question and I haven’t heard an answer yet, but I shut up. If Hunter is deep enough in the aforementioned subset of the population that he’s willing to rejoin society (“society”) here in the firelight to hear what she’s saying, instead of lurking in a concerning way just on the edges of it, I can let her talk.

“Are you saying your theory is more accurate than everyone else’s?” he asks, pointedly ignoring the sidelong looks Neesha and I are giving him. He ignores the ones Jinni and Ketari flicker to offer him as well, the former’s face unreadable as ever but her eyes on him, and the latter’s wearing a slight frown and a suspicious glint in the eye.

“I’m saying,” Mauna clarifies, “that what we have isn’t a theory, and isn’t based on faith.”

“Not that you’ll share it, or the evidence used to formulate it,” Hunter notes, his tone so dry it makes me homesick for the desert. Ketari flickers and now her face looks approving. Of course it does. The Sheikah cultivate a deep sense of suspicion in themselves like the rest of us would a favoured houseplant.

“It would break every single one of our tenants,” Mauna acknowledges, drumming her fingers against her own cheek, “but I’m mulling it over.”

_That_ gets my attention back on the conversation. “Why?” I ask. I need both hands to count the number of things from any of my inherited cultures and religions that I’m not allowed to talk about with outsiders, which is a source of great pain for me generally, or would be if I was better at internalizing and remembering the esoteric. People tend to take that sort of thing seriously. And none of them are even in a cult, which this could still be.

“Because the Triforce didn’t just reshape the Sacred Realm to match the views of the man who touched it. It granted him a wish. And the consequences of that wish are that one of the Divine Systems – the one with which my associates and I are most concerned – has, despite all our efforts to keep it otherwise, been co-opted. The entity to whom we would normally turn under such circumstances is otherwise indisposed and unable to assist us.” She glances, briefly, at the hilt of the Master Sword sticking up over my shoulder. “I suspect you may be in a position to step into that role.”

I frown, hesitant now. “Not that that doesn’t sound important, but if you had any idea what’s on my To Do List these days…”

“Enlighten me,” she says.

“Will you give us a moment?” Hunter says, getting to his feet. 

We follow him over and away from the woman, all of us frowning for all kinds of reasons. “We cannot,” he says, “under any circumstances tell her what we’re doing here.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because I’m pretty sure Valdyx is the entity she was talking about, and we’re here to kill him.”

“You think they worship the Avatar of Death?” Neesha asks. “That’s insane. She’s _death_.” I consider pointing out, not for the first time, the way she talks about the whole concept of a Gerudo death, a concept deeply rooted in Gerudo history and art and culture, and maybe it’s not _that_ hard to believe, but that’s a guaranteed fight and we’ve got bigger problems right now.

“I think they work for him,” Hunter clarifies. “I can’t be sure, but what she’s saying…they might be legit. I remember reading something about them in lessons when I was a kid. I think they might even be an offshoot of the ancient Sheikah, like, a very long time ago. People chosen by Valdyx specifically to assist when things get complicated, or during times when the volume of dead is just too high and creates too many risks of restless dead.”

“What do you mean, restless dead?” Neesha demands.

“Like redeads or stalchildren.”

“Yeah, see, that’s why we burn ours.”

“You still get poe,” he counters, “and places like the Spirit Wastes. And just because—”

Okay, so apparently there are opportunities here to get distracted by more than one well-trod argument. I cut in quickly, “Okay, but how sure are you that they’re legit?”

He makes a face and tilts his hand back and forth. “Fifty-fifty? It was a long time ago, and they were like a footnote on a lesson about something else entirely. Ask Zelda. Maybe she learned something in her lessons I didn’t.”

I prod the area where she usually is, and then shrug at him. “She’s not answering.” Hasn’t all night, in fact. Not since we said goodnight last night – or, more accurately, a few hours ago. I guess it’s still the same night.

“Do we need to be worried about that?” he asks, frowning.

My turn to make a face and tilt my hand back and forth. “If I don’t hear from her by morning, I’ll be worried. In the meantime, what do we do?”

“What do _you_ think?” Neesha asks. “Use your weird Hero sense.”

“I told you, you just made that up.” But despite myself I glance back over at Mauna. She’s sitting calmly where we left her, politely not watching us have this discussion. Jinni and Ketari aren’t far from her, and they’re less polite. I can feel both of their attention on me, even as they’re flickering and playing out old memories. When I look over at them, they solidify, briefly, outfits changing (though Jinni stays in the red, I haven’t once seen her flicker into the white), postures shifting, until they find a memory that allows them to return my gaze directly. On a whim, I nod my head at Mauna and raise an eyebrow at them. Ketari’s form flickers, just slightly, and she gives me a short nod. Jinni’s flickers and she suddenly looks like she’s reclining on a chair somewhere, bored and shrugging, and that’s about as much endorsement as they’ve ever given anybody.

Assuming they’re not somehow bewitched or ensorcelled. Granting I have limited experience with Dark World ghosts, but these two are way more present and aware, more often, than Aunt Aeria was. When they’re focused, they don’t seem confused. When they’re flickering and re-enacting their own lives, it feels more idle motion or strange sign language than inescapable trap. And they never quite disappear entirely. They don’t fade in and out of existence. 

Their situation isn’t the same as Aeria’s, that much is obvious. I just don’t know where the differences are coming from.

“She’s hiding stuff,” I say, “but so are we—hey, man, you okay?” 

Hunter, who followed my gaze two seconds ago and is now staring at Jinni and Ket and looking a little sick, shakes himself and looks back at me. “Sorry, what?”

I frown. “I’m saying I don’t think she’s out to get us, and I don’t think she’s lying, but that doesn’t mean what we want isn’t mutually exclusive.”

“So what do we do about it?” Neesha demands.

I shrug. “I think we keep talking. Find out what she wants. Figure it out from there.”

She sighs, but shrugs, because she hasn’t got any better ideas. We both turn to look at Hunter to get his vote, but I suppose it’s good we outnumber him anyway, because he’s wandering off again.

“Hunter!” I call, half-protest, half-concern.

“I’ll be back,” he replies, but not with the sort of force or direction that implies he needs to do a thing, so much as he needs to _not_ be doing a thing and he will come back when the threat of having to do that thing has passed.

I exchange a glance with Neesha. “You think this is about—”

“What else?” she demands. “I’ll deal with it. Go talk to whatever her name is. And don’t let her get away with not answering your question about those two.” She gestures vaguely at Jinni and Ket’s ghosts, and then jogs off after Hunter.

You know, none of us are handling prolonged exposure to the Dark World very well, but I’m starting to get worried about Hunter. Not that any of this is easy for Neesha and I – she keeps looking at Jinni and I can tell the red uniform is bothering her as much as it’s bothering me, and I’m not saying I’d be nicer to Osae under better circumstances, but not knowing what to do with all these metaphorical fingers jabbing at my old wounds isn’t dulling my edges any – but at least we tend to deal with and/or express our emotional turmoil in the moment. I’m starting to think Hunter’s got more emotional skeletons in his closet than he’s been letting on, and the Dark World keeps dragging them out to dance for him.

No offence to present company intended.

I start to wish Bruiser was here – he always knew what to do when Hunter was heading for some kind of brain spiral – but immediately glance over at Jinni and Ket, remember Aunt Aeria, and abort the thought before it can become anything solid.

He probably is here. And that’s a problem.

I turn back to Mauna with a new goal beyond irritate her and her associates until they let us leave. I’m already slowly suffocating under my list of To Dos. What’s one more added to the weight, right?

“Okay,” I say, sitting back down in front of her, “let’s talk.”

## A brief interlude

It was an unspoken rule of the universe that the Princess Zelda Hyrule was a Graceful Person. This was verifiably true and was due to a number of factors. First, there was her breeding. The Hyrules as a family were Graceful People. She came from graceful stock, with excellent physical intelligence, who had a knack for always knowing what their limbs were doing at any given moment and making whatever that was smooth and fluid and beautiful to watch. 

Then, there was her training. Being a Queen-In-Training, which was what a Princess really was after all, meant learning to wield grace with the same intention you would wield a sword and shield. It was your best tool in things like diplomacy, negotiation, and, when required, even war. Training to be a renegade Queen-In-Training-In-Hiding / Sheikan-Guide-To-The-Hero (the memories remained, even if the events had no longer happened) also required learning grace. A grace better suited to shadows and subterfuge and spying (and not strangling the Hero because he just had that effect on people), certainly, but grace all the same.

Then there was her own nature. Grace came naturally to Zelda. It came as easily to her, in her every motion and action, as brazenness came to Link.

And yet here she was, with deep, personal offence, lying on the floor in a puddle of she’d rather not ponder what – not for the first time this escapade – rubbing Malon’s nose with Malon’s hands and praying she hadn’t broken it this time.

_I don’t know which of us this is weirder for,_ Malon said, with utter honesty and complete bafflement.

_I’m sorry,_ Zelda replied in her head (...in _Malon’s_ head, with her own voice – she’d tried talking out loud once, but Malon’s voice did not sound like Malon’s voice from in here and they needed to be quiet anyway). _I’m just… your centre of gravity is… not where I’m used to?_ Language failed. There was no straightforward way to express what it was like, moving someone else’s body using your own brain. _I thought it would be like being Sheik, but that’s a spell, more or less, and the magic sort of … takes care of things. This is more like being_ me _, except everything’s longer or shorter or wider or narrower than I’m used to. Everything’s off by an inch here or an inch there…_ She gave up trying to explain it and stared up at the ceiling through a curtain of red hair. _Your boots are so big._

_They’re for mucking out the stables, Princess_ , Malon replied, voice wry. _I doubt you’ve worn their like._

Zelda couldn’t tell if that was a dig or a statement of fact. Putting aside the fact that one was a Queen and one was a rancher, she and Malon were in the awkward position of being friends of friends of each other. Sure, they had hung out from time to time in their younger days, when Zelda had been posing as Sheik and skulking about at the archery shop, but that wasn’t so much with each other, as it was with Link, who happened to be in both of their company at the same time. The fact that Zelda had been lying through Sheik’s teeth about who she was, and the fact that Malon was dating someone that Zelda had a particular personal interest in had made things… well, suffice it to say that they hadn’t put a lot of effort into getting to know each other back then. They’d found a way to tolerate each other for Link’s sake and gone about their business. Now, though, the fact they knew each other just a little bit seemed to make the current experience even more awkward than it would have been if they’d been complete strangers. Neither of them knew how to navigate this with any sort of grace (nothing about this experience, it seemed, would be graceful), and then you put the Queen vs. Rancher layer back on it and the differences in their lives and social status and political power just put a huge magnifying glass on the whole thing. 

_I have not,_ the Princess finally said, opting for honesty. She didn’t think she had even before she’d changed time, and that life had been significantly less fancy than her current one. _Most of my shoes are for walking or dancing or riding or fighting._ She wondered if she should have highlighted how many shoes she owned. She wondered if that had been rude.

She wished she could turn into Sheik. Nobody expected Sheik to be good at managing awkward social situations. Everybody called it a win if Sheik managed to get through a conversation without putting _both_ feet in his mouth.

She rolled over and pushed Malon’s body back up to its feet. This was their third excursion out of the frosted, sensory-dulling worlds of the crystals they were housed in since that first accidental one. So far, they’d gotten caught once and were forcibly returned to their crystals, much like the first time. The next time they were _going_ to be caught and Zelda pulled the plug on the excursion (because it was the responsible thing to do, but also because it _hurt_ to get caught, and also because she was afraid of causing damage to Malon’s body, but also because _it hurt so much_ ).

This time was going much smoother, because they’d gotten farther away from the central chamber where the giant bari guarded whatever the pit it was sitting on was. The trick, it seemed, was to note where Malon’s uninhabited body was going or what it was doing – chores, mostly, focused on caring for the bari and managing the room it never seemed to leave – and then mimic that as long as you were in sight of the bari. As long as you did whatever it expected Malon’s body to be doing, it didn’t seem to care.

It also, Malon had noted earlier, didn’t seem to learn. It kept separating Zelda from Malon’s body, but it never did anything different after that. It didn’t seem to understand that Zelda could get out again, the instant Malon’s body got close enough. It clearly controlled the empty shell, but it didn’t bother to keep it away or change anything about its behaviour. So this time, they’d played along until they could get out of sight, and then they started exploring.

_You know,_ Zelda said as she crept slowly to the edge of a corner to peek around the side of it, _if it weren’t for the circumstances that go us stuck here in the first place_ – and the fact that she wasn’t in her own body – _this would be kind of fun._ The hallway appeared clear, so she moved out into it.

_Serious?_ Malon replied, surprised.

_One hundred percent_ , Zelda insisted. _Reminds me of the time before I sent Link back in time. Not the bad parts, I could do without those._ Nayru, and there had been so many of those. _But the rest of it. Exploring all the lost, forgotten little corners of Hyrule. There are ruins in the Lost Woods that look kind of like this place, Dark World renovations aside. And there are crystal caverns under Goron City that no one but me has set foot in in millennia, not even the Gorons._ She recognized the wistful sigh she was building in Malon’s chest too late to stop it.

_An adventurer princess, who would’ve thought,_ Malon replied. She sounded wry again, but not uninterested. 

_No,_ Zelda corrected her, exiting the hallway into a large room with a grand staircase extending upward in two directions. _You can’t be both. I wasn’t a princess then. I’d been dethroned._

_Which would you prefer to be?_ Malon asked, and Zelda worked very hard this time to keep the pained sigh from escaping.

_Wonder what’s up here,_ she said instead of answering. Malon didn’t press.

She climbed the stairs slowly, taking care to lift Malon’s feet high enough to avoid tripping on her boots, or skirts, or possibly nothing at all but tripping anyway. The air grew colder as she ascended, and she felt goosebumps raise the hair on Malon’s arms. _Do you have any allergies?_ she asked. The thought was random, but the higher she climbed the more nervous she got, and the chatter helped to keep her from turning around and fleeing back down the stairs. A bad habit she’d picked up from Link, whose stress you could measure by the number of words he crammed into a single breath. _I should probably know in case you get hungry and I have to find something to eat._

_Something doesn’t feel right,_ Malon replied, apparently not sold on the value of distraction. Zelda remembered well the expression the rancher would be wearing if she’d been in her own skin. A slight narrowing of the eyes, a thinning of the lips, as she considered the object of her sudden and keen suspicion. She’d earned that look more than once as Sheik, for saying things that hadn’t quite added up. Link never noticed, but nothing got past Malon. _I don’t even know how that’s possible. I can’t_ feel _anything in here, but it doesn’t feel right all the same. I swear it on my mother’s grave._

_I wouldn’t bring up graves around here,_ Zelda replied, and then they crested the top of the staircase.

The room at the top was a circular loft, wide enough in diameter to fit maybe a hundred people. The walls were lined with bookshelves written in a language or languages neither of them recognized, or tapestries depicting various scenes with a particularly strong death theme. They had all been ransacked. The books were thrown carelessly around the room, some with pages or covers torn apart. The tapestries were ripped to tatters, barely hanging on to their hooks in the wall. In the centre were tables, broken or rotting, covered in dust and bones.

_Nayru preserve us_ , Malon whispered. _This is the creepiest thing I have ever seen, and a monster jellyfish is wearing me as a ring right now. We need to go._

_Hang on,_ Zelda said, eyes scanning the tapestries and the torn pages with something akin to greed. _There might be answers here._

Malon was incredulous. _Answers to_ what _?_

Zelda hesitated. _Remember when I asked you if you wanted me to give you the gentle version of where we are and why we’re here and what we’re doing about it? And you said yes?_

Malon didn’t answer for a moment, and Zelda gave her the space to think it over without moving further into the room. _I think,_ Malon replied finally, sounding kind of ill, but mostly determined, _I’m past that now. I think I_ need _to be past that._

_This place belongs to the Angel of Death_ , Zelda told her, keeping her tone even and matter of fact. _Hunter and the others have to kill her. There might be something here that can help them do that._

_Okay_ , said Malon, her voice small. _Maybe a little gentler than that_.

Zelda didn’t reply. She was moving slowly through the desecrated library, careful to avoid disturbing anything she didn’t have to. There was a lot she wanted to look at, but she hadn’t been kidding about her time as an adventurer. In a room as creepy as this one, there was no guarantee how much time you had before something went horribly wrong and evacuating as fast as possible became the only possible action. Prioritization was key, here.

Of the assorted detritus, there was one tapestry in particular that caught her eye. It reminded her of a picture she’d seen in a book when she was small. It wasn’t a Hylian book, it was one of Impa’s. Very old, and she shouldn’t have been touching it at all, but old things had always spoken to her more than new things did, and she couldn’t help herself. It had not been a book for children, that much became clear to her as soon as she’d cracked open the cover.

But this image was even worse, somehow, than the one in Impa’s book. It was twisted, like the map of Hyrule in her visions, an eternity ago now when this had all started; the one that had turned out to be of the Dark World. What was left of the tapestry showed a gibdo, howling in pain and rage, while the world burned behind it. It was rising up out of a cauldron, bubbling with sickly green light. There was a piece of the tapestry missing, and Zelda tried to remember what must have been there, based on what she had seen in Impa’s book.

She crouched down near the wall and reached toward the dust, making a face as she brushed a small pile of bones away from a crumpled strip of torn cloth. She lifted it up and turned to try to get a better look at it. 

There they were. The figures she remembered from the book – duller, and smaller and less purposeful looking, but they were there. Like priests and priestesses, standing up to the gibdo. Their leader stood in front of them, a word emblazoned on her back. The letters here were twisted, like everything else, but Zelda remembered the Sheikan word from the original (because she’d asked Impa about it later and thus outed herself as a disobedient book thief): _Makan’oha_. Shepherds.

She felt something scrape against Malon’s foot, but was so distracted by the tapestry she didn’t think to panic until she glanced down and saw the bones she’d brushed aside earlier shaping themselves into a hand that was trying to tangle itself in the laces of Malon’s boot. She hissed her breath in sharply.

_Zelda!_ Malon gasped, but the warning was far too late, as the stalfos dragged itself out of the shadows against the wall, using Malon’s boot as its handhold. _Run!_

Zelda brought Malon’s other boot down hard on the Stalfos’ wrist, rejoicing in the sickening sound of bone crunching. It would put itself back together in less time than it had taken her to shatter its wrist, but it was enough to shake herself free of its grip and make a scrambling retreat back toward the stairs.

She suddenly couldn’t quite remember why she’d thought she missed this.

***

They sat in the dark of the room affectionately referred to as “the office” by their motley group of would-be rebels / loyalists / some other word defined by the mouth from which it sprang. The lamp on the table between them had burned low a long time ago, but either they hadn’t noticed, or couldn’t be bothered to get up and refill the reservoir. 

A crash from outside the room sent them both to their feet, knives in hand, but all that followed was muffled laughter. No shouting or screaming, no clashing of steel. Durnam hadn’t come for them yet.

They heaved sighs that, though relieved, did nothing to release the tension sitting hard and cold in their rib cages and took their seats again.

Deciding abruptly that silence wasn’t helping anything, Mel spoke. “Think they’re okay?”

Renaud looked up as he settled back into his seat. His eyes had cleared of the influence of his previous drinking, but the building hangover draped behind them looked like it was gearing up to be nasty. “Who?” he asked, and the fact that it was a legitimate request for clarification was probably the most depressing part of the whole situation.

“All of them, I guess,” Mel replied, “but I was thinking of Bel and the others. There are so many ways their mission could go badly.” She didn’t say there was no point asking about Brayden, since he was probably dead or worse already.

Renaud studied her face in profile for a moment. “Not used to working on your own, are you?”

She glanced at him and then looked away with a sigh. “No.” She rubbed idly at the smooth leather of her gloves – a world away, she thought, from the bandages she used to wear. Easier to put on. Easier to take off. But less like a second skin, less like a ritual, less like a uniform. Because they weren’t. “There used to be three of us, actually. Bel and me and Thomas, all the way through training. Until he got assigned to Castletown and … well.” Goddess it seemed so far away now.

“I know who Bel is and why she’s not with you now,” Renaud said, tracing the grain of the wooden table under his hand, though his attention was on her. “What happened with this Thomas?” There was something a little too aware in his eyes – if she’d doubted his heritage before, that was dispelled now; only a Sheikah would read you that quick. “Is he the reason you don’t wear your uniform anymore?” 

She wasted a moment wishing, briefly, but still, that he hadn’t sobered up quite so quickly. “It’s complicated, and I probably shouldn’t talk about it with someone outside.” To his credit, he didn’t wince. 

“Exile,” he said, and to _her_ credit _she_ didn’t wince, “is hard. It will be easier for you if you have someone to speak with who understands it, and there are not many within the borders of Hyrule who can make that claim. I’m not asking for state secrets, I promise you. But I know what you had, and I know something of what you’ve lost, and you are treading ground some of us have walked before. If you want someone to help you find the way, I’m here.”

“You left,” she said, “because you wanted to.”

“I left,” he clarified, “because my life had reached a point where a choice had to be made. A man who serves two masters is a man who betrays at least one of them sooner or later. And I knew which it would be. Better to leave before it came to it.”

“Yeah well,” Mel said, “some of us weren’t that forward thinking.”

For a moment, silence fell again, and each followed it back down into their own thoughts. But after a spell, the younger of them stirred. “Was Eldrick the second master? The one you chose?” She paused. “Not the ass, the older one.”

Renaud, to her surprise, chuckled. It was a brief and wilted sound, but genuine despite that. “His father was an ass too,” he said, and though the fondness there should have surprised her, it didn’t. “And I’m sure he would have liked to fancy himself my master, but that would be true only in the most indirect sense. My choice of masters, little exile, was between my soul, sworn to serve the Goddesses at any cost, and my heart, which would have, in a single beat, sold the former to save him.”

“Him, as in the senior ass?”

“Just so,” Renaud replied with something that was almost a smirk. His eyes were distant, lost in another time.

She didn’t interrupt his thoughts, taking the opportunity to try to sort out her own. Eventually, almost unconsciously, she said, “The reason I don’t wear a uniform anymore isn’t because of Thomas. The same as… the same as Lord Eldrick wasn’t your second master, but he was… he was at the centre of the choice. I made the choice I did because I couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything else. It’s not his fault. He didn’t make me do it. He couldn’t have. I just… He was in trouble. He needed help. And I couldn’t give him that without…well.” She gestured at the Hylian outfit she was wearing. “I didn’t even know I had two masters, Renaud. But I had to choose between them anyway.”

“And your sister?” he asked.

The guilt in her eyes was sudden and vicious. 

“Ah,” he said. “She chose you, did she?”

Mel’s voice was admirably steady when she replied, but she kept her face turned away from him. “She shouldn’t have had to. I shouldn’t have put her in that position. Thomas was mind-controlled, he couldn’t help himself. I don’t have that excuse.”

“She chose to go with you, the same as you chose to go after him,” Renaud said, not gentle, exactly, but not rough either.

“She didn’t want to, though,” Mel said. “She thought we should follow protocol. All the way through, she thought...she argued…” Mel sagged in her chair. “She was right. She was right all along, but I was too panicked to listen. She was thinking, I was reacting. And now here we are.” She looked down at her hands, fighting to keep her scowl off her face. “Being a Sheikah was everything to her. She’s always taken it more seriously than me. She’s always just… _wanted_ it more. For me, it was just something I was. It was just… just…”

“Culture,” Renaud supplied.

“Yes,” Mel confirmed. “Culture. Community. The world. It was just how it was, you know? But for her? It was more. It was more serious. It was a very solid thing for her. Practically physical. It was… it was…”

“The _Quis_ ,” Renaud clarified.

“Yes,” Mel said, and deflated. “It was the _Quis_. The real, true thing. The calling. It was everything to her. And now…”

“And now she must live with the fact that she chose something else,” Renaud said, “the same as you must.” He paused and thought for a long moment, trying to remember what he would have needed to hear, if he had had someone to talk to about the choice before – or after – he’d made it. “It is a heavy sacrifice the Goddesses ask of the Sheikah; to choose Them over all. We’re mortal, at the end of the day, you know. We forget that, I think. Or prefer not to think about it.” He paused, considering his own words. “Easier to think of ourselves as little pieces of the divine, easier to justify the sacrifices, easier to validate the losses, easier to carry on with so many holes in our hearts. _Sen quis lodannan sen venan_ , and all that.” 

He paused again and his eyes grew distant. When he resumed speaking, she wasn’t entirely sure he was talking to her anymore. “Sometimes I think… I have spent a very long time thinking about this, and sometimes I think it’s better to be among the fallen. That’s what we are, did you know? We’re among the _venan_ now. To fail in the _Quis_ is to fall. To be mourned like the dead. But the life I have lived since I left, Mel… I miss my family. I miss my _people_. I miss the Caverns and the food and the music. Every day I miss it, like there’s a piece of me missing. But I built a life here, do you understand? I built a second family. With a man I loved, and children I love, and work that has been meaningful and given me purpose. It’s not… it was never the Goddess’ work, Mel. It wasn’t the _Quis_ , but it was good, do you understand? I wouldn’t trade it. Not even for Them.” He looked, suddenly, fierce in a way she had never seen him. For one, bright moment, it was as though the weight of the last few months had been lifted, and his back straightened and his eyes burned and the fear and the grief and the guilt faded in the face of his vivid, bone-deep conviction. “We may be _venan,_ but we’re not _dead_ , Mel. You’ve lost something you’ll never replace, but you can make a life for yourself that is more than anything you ever thought it could be. Do it. And don’t look back. Not even in a place like this, in a time like we’re living. Do you understand? Never look back.”

“What do you want me to say?” she replied softly. “It’s not just my life that needs to be rebuilt.”

“But yours is the only one you _can_ rebuild,” he replied. “Your sister and your friend will have to figure themselves out. And they will. If your sister wants to serve the Goddesses still, she can. The Sheikah do not have a monopoly on service to the Goddesses, girl, and the _Quis_ is not the only path to righteousness.”

“No,” agreed a new voice from the shadows, “it is not.”

They were on their feet less than a heartbeat later, knives out as they whirled to face the darkest corner of the room, but then they saw who was stepping out of the shadows and into the failing lamplight. Neither of them, in that moment, could decide if this was better or worse than the alternatives.

“Hello Impa,” said Renaud, and sheathed his knives. “It’s been a while.” 

***

Eldrick nursed the warm drink in his hand, despite how badly he would have preferred to down it in one go. It wasn’t that it tasted good, he was too young yet to have acquired the taste for alcohol and whatever had been added to the drink was strong and bitter. It was just that the treks between camps and tents was cold, and his stress levels were growing with every stop, and it would be nice to let something take the edge off his growing anxiety. 

But he’d been offered a drink at every tent he’d been to, and if he drank them all he’d be useless faster than he could ask for a refill. 

“Edwin,” he said, frowning, “be serious, man. You can’t honestly tell me you think following Durnam is the right thing to do.”

“Ah, Dorian,” Edwin replied, swirling his own drink around in his glass. The light of the lamp on the heavy wooden coffee table glittered and refracted through the burgundy liquid. “Always such an idealist. I think following Durnam is the only option on the table right now.”

“I’m literally here offering another.”

The look Edwin gave him was far too close to pity for Eldrick’s tastes. “No,” Edwin replied. “What you’re offering is nothing and I think you know that. You’re asking me to commit treason, to exhort my soldiers to follow me in it, and you’ve not even tried to bribe me for it, Dorian. Because you have nothing to bribe me with.”

Eldrick shifted his weight in the soft armchair and leashed his shortening temper as best he could. Getting angry wouldn’t get him anywhere, not least because Edwin was right. “Treason? What treason? Durnam is not King, but a usurper. If anything, it’s patriotism I’m asking you to commit. Loyalism.” He shook his head. “I didn’t try to bribe you because I have more respect for you than that, but if you want one, we’ve had word from the Hero. Confirmation that Zelda lives, which means I can ensure you are rewarded when she returns.” He didn’t technically know if that was true, but he didn’t see a way around making the promise anyway. He liked to think she’d honour it. The more cynical part of him suspected she wouldn’t have much of a choice – far too few of her nobles were willing to stick their necks out for her in absentia. She would need to reward those who had, if for no other reason than to make a point to the rest.

Edwin’s face grew serious and Eldrick could see the shadowed edges of his position behind his eyes; hints of things he had not yet spoken. “Her ass is not the one in the seat, Dorian. Between the two of us and these walls, I’m with you. Spiritually. Philosophically. But practically, and financially, and militarily...I cannot commit House Terral to your cause.” He shook his head slowly, considering a future where he did just that, assessing the grim potential of it. “I just got married, did you know? If I did what you ask, I risk… well I can’t risk it. Not the sort of move you’re talking about. Not without a higher power backing you— a higher power who is here, physically, now,” he clarified immediately upon seeing Eldrick open his mouth.

The younger noble muttered something bitter and sank back in his chair. He was sulking now, and he knew it was obvious, but it was becoming difficult to maintain a veneer of political savvy in the face of the mounting challenges he did not like the solution for. “Congratulations on your marriage,” he said. “That provincial cousin of the Shenyans I assume. A good alliance. Or at least it was before Durnam started assassinating people in the night. I’m honestly not sure where the Shenyans stand these days, _or_ where they’ll stand when the Queen returns.” He paused and a frown flitted across his face as something occurred to him. “I don’t recall receiving an invitation. My father attended for Eldrick, I assume?”

“Ah,” said Edwin, and shifted in his seat. “Well who knows, really. It was months ago, now, and I had quite a good time, so—”

“Terral,” Eldrick snapped, drawing himself up. The drink in his cup sloshed a warning. “Was my family not invited?” 

“Well, no,” he said, “of course the Eldricks were represented. I know I’m not always the most socially acceptable of my House, but I’m not _that_ rude.”

“Then who was invited?” Dorian demanded. “Not some cousin?” And then he realized what Edwin had said. That _the Eldricks_ were represented – but not _Eldrick_ , their house. He scowled. “You can’t be—”

“I had to make a choice,” Edwin cut him off, “because your father’s incredibly public position forced me to. I had to choose between the House Eldrick, and my friends therein, and my commanding officer. The woman who is one of the very few commanders I have served beneath with anything resembling pride. She’s saved my life, Dorian. Did you know?” He shook his head. “I genuinely wanted you there, but if I had to choose, there was only one choice to make. I’m sorry.”

Eldrick did not reply, opting instead to sit and scowl and stew. Irritation broke through discipline and he took a long, burning draw from his goblet. (Din, but it tasted awful.) (He did it again.) Why was it that every conversation tonight was coming back to this? Coming back to her? He was offering these cowards their honour back, and all they would say was—

“Now… if you could get the _Commander_ on board with your plan—”

Eldrick stood up suddenly enough that Edwin stopped talking and stared at him in surprise. “Thank you for the drink,” he forced himself to say stiffly, setting the goblet back down on the table between them, hard enough it sloshed over the side and ran onto the carpet beneath, “and for your discretion. I won’t trouble you further.”

“Dorian,” said Edwin reproachfully, but Eldrick ignored him, moving on a beeline for the tent’s exit. “Eldrick,” he snapped, and there was definitely something forceful and commanding in the voice. The military had done well for him.

Scowling darkly, Eldrick glanced back at him over his shoulder.

“Your father was a good man, who meant well,” Edwin said, serious. “But you’re head of the House now, not him. You don’t have to do everything his way. Grieve. And then move on. Move _forward_.”

“Thank you for the counsel, Terral,” Eldrick replied with barely concealed offence. “I will take it under advisement.”

And then he stalked out the door and into the swirling snow beyond.

***

Brayden woke up in the lap of the innkeeper he’d been speaking with at the bar before Renaud had ruined his own disguise and had needed to be escorted out. It was a nice lap, he thought, in the addled way of the recently woken and the gently concussed, but he didn’t think he was here because he’d finally listened to the disastrous advice Bruiser had tried to give him a few months ago. Some nonsense about moving on and _living_ the life that had been returned to him. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t he? He was breathing. He was moving around. He talked to people when they talked to him. What else did he need to do?

It _was_ a nice lap, soft in all the good ways, but eventually his senses began to follow his consciousness and wake up, and several things came back to him all at once.

He choked on a swear word and sat straight up. Even so, it took him several seconds to be able to survey the room, because the sudden motion had set it to spinning alarmingly.

“You should move slow,” said the innkeeper, in the dazed voice of someone who didn’t think the standard advice was much use in the long run, but who couldn’t stop the programmed responses from coming out despite this. “They hit you pretty hard in the head.”

They had, he remembered. The snow-covered steps hadn’t helped when he’d fallen and hit those too. He was hurting in other places, but after a few seconds of careful motion, he determined that he hadn’t broken anything to the point where it couldn’t be used, just to the point where it was going to make him pay for any motion later.

“They’ve lost their minds,” said the innkeeper, watching him take in the room. “They’ve gone insane, haven’t they? This isn’t an inquisition.”

And Brayden, who took his sudden, intense desire to lie to her as a very bad sign indeed, said: “No. No, it’s not.”

They were in one of the palace’s small ballrooms – one that was multi-purpose. It could be used for small, intimate parties of a hundred people or less. It could be repurposed for large meetings and conferences. It could, apparently, be turned into a makeshift cage for approximately a hundred and fifty terrified civilians, bloodied and sobbing and jumping as a single, panicked unit every time something outside the door at the east end of the hall made a noise just a little too loud.

There were only a few reasons Brayden could think of to take this many people, this violently, and put them in a room like this, and not a single one of them was positive.

He had to get these people out of here.

“I, uh, your disguise came off,” said the innkeeper, and though it was an effort, the statement set off enough alarms in his brain, that Brayden dragged his thoughts away from what was happening and back to what had happened. He killed the instinct to reach up and seek the complicated makeup he’d been wearing and confirm anything was wrong. If she’d made the statement, of course it was. “Or, I mean, it got damaged. When they hit you. I don’t think they noticed, so when they put us all in the cart and I saw… anyway, I took it off before anyone noticed and I muddied up your face a bit. Dirt and blood mostly, sorry. It’s a bit… unhygienic, but I figured…”

He turned to look at her in surprise.

She shrugged, uncomfortable. “Things are bad, and you were trying to help. You didn’t have to. You had lots of reasons not to, but you were trying anyway. Didn’t seem right to just let them punish you for that. I thought, maybe, if they didn’t recognize you it would be better but now, I…” She threw a hopeless look around the mass of people huddled in the room. “Might have been better for you if I’d told them straight up who you were.”

He felt a sudden surge of warmth for this woman, and maybe a little for the people she represented. “Are you so sure you know who I am?”

She snorted. “That boy of yours and his friends come into my inn all the time when they’re in town. They eat like you starve them, and they tip generously. Yours chats me up like he’s flirting, but he’s just like that, I think. Just honestly curious about everything and everyone around him.” Her face softened at the memory. “He looks just like you, you know. I knew who you were as soon as that stuff you had on your nose was off.”

Brayden studied her for a moment longer, then turned to survey the crowd again. “Thank you,” he said, “for keeping the faith.”

“Faith’s about all we have left, I think,” she said, and sounded sad. And angry, a little bit, underneath it. She looked back out over the gathered civilians and her eyes were distant. “They’re not here, you know? The friends I mentioned back at the bar. The ones who were taken in the last inquisition. They’re not here.”

Brayden let that sink in and then frowned. “It’s a big crowd—”

“I looked,” she said, and her voice was matter of fact enough that he didn’t try to offer her comfort on the point again. This, he decided, was a practical woman and she’d been kind to him; he saw no reason to offend her intelligence. “I asked around. I made noise. If they were here, I’d have found them. They’re not here. And I don’t think they’re anywhere else either.”

“What makes you say—”

The doors at the east end of the room slammed open without warning, and a great shriek went up from the crowd. The innkeeper reached out and caught Brayden’s sleeve as he started to rise, dragging him back onto the floor and then down again into her lap. The movement was insistent enough that Brayden didn’t fight it. He even half-closed his eyes, keeping them open just enough to watch what was happening through a curtain of lashes. 

The innkeeper pressed herself back against the wall and seemed to be trying to make herself seem as small as possible as a heavily armed group of soldiers marched into the room. Except they weren’t soldiers, and it was less of a march than a prowl, like a predator seeking a snack. 

“They’re moblins,” he whispered to the woman and felt her hand tighten on his arm as the information shattered their illusions for her. “Steady,” he whispered as he could feel her drawing in her breath. “You’ve done well to avoid their attention so far, keep it up. A panic in here serves no one.”

The moblins split up and moved into the crowd, selecting people and dragging them back to the east side of the room. Brayden took the opportunity to glance toward the open door. He couldn’t see anything but the wall of the hallway beyond, but the sounds were a little clearer now that it was open. Somewhere down that hallway, someone – a group of someones – was making a steady, repetitive noise. Like a song, or a chant, but even as muffled as it was, he didn’t think it was that. It was a disturbing rhythm, and the longer he listened to it the less happy it made him. It was familiar and it brought back some of the least pleasant memories he had. Of dark rooms and darker chains and even darker acts, committed with his hands, staining his soul, no matter how he’d railed against it.

In all, the moblins grabbed about a dozen people and herded them at spear point toward the door. None of them fought. For one thing, there was no hope of achieving anything if they did – the moblins were armed and armoured, the civilians were not. For another, where would they run from there? For a third, and probably most pertinent, these people weren’t soldiers. They weren’t combatants. They were merchants, and housekeepers, and blacksmiths, and tailors. Brayden felt the stirrings of his old temper deep in his chest – this was a gross injustice on so many levels. But where, in his younger days, he might have jumped up right then and rushed over to help, he was older now, and more aware of the realities of situations like these.

It was too late for the people the moblins were leading out the door. It was honestly, probably too late for the other hundred and fiftyish (hundred and thirty-eightish now) left in the room, but maybe not. Time was a resource not to be ignored. There were a number of events in motion that _might_ create an opportunity for him to help at least some of these people. The Gerudo could arrive and interrupt whatever was going on beyond that door. The rebellion could come looking for it’s misplaced leader (he honestly hoped they wouldn’t do that – they weren’t strong enough and that would just result in them getting dumped in here with him). The Goddesses could come back to begin Judgement Day proceedings and render it all moot. Time was the only resource they had right now.

The door closed again like the sealing of a tomb and the innkeeper let Brayden rise again.

“Moblins,” she breathed. “We have to—”

“What’s your name?” Brayden asked, cutting her off before she could chase that thought and start shouting. He didn’t necessarily disagree with the instinct, it was just that they had to be careful about it. He was going to have to light the fuse on the crowd eventually, but if they weren’t careful about when and where, it would just make things worse.

She looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“Your name,” he repeated. “You know mine. I bet my son knows yours. He seems to know everybody’s. But I’m not as social a creature as he is, and I’ve just realized I never asked it. You probably saved my life—” she rolled her eyes, because, given the circumstances, had she really? “—and I haven’t even asked your name. That was rude of me. I’m asking it now.”

“Anna,” she said, cocking her head.

“Anna,” Brayden repeated. He adopted a tone he hoped was reassuring, one he’d heard Bruiser use a thousand times when people were jumpy and scared, and he needed them calm and focused. The one he’d used on Brayden a thousand times in their younger days. “Call me Bray. Thank you, sincerely, for everything you’ve done so far. I am going to ask you for another favour right now, and I want to be very clear that you can tell me no.” He really, really hoped she wouldn’t.

She frowned at him, curious despite the nature of their situation. “All right,” she said, “ask it.”

“I can get one person out of this room, and only one person,” he said. “But then you will have to get yourself out of the palace. And once you’re out, I need you to do something for me. I need you to do this thing before you do anything else, and I need you do it no matter what happens. No matter who else you’re worried about. No matter who gets in your way. Do you understand?”

She was frowning at him now, smart enough to know a double-edged sword when she saw one. “Is this Sheikah stuff? I can hold my own in a bar fight if I have to, and I know my way around a sword, but I’m not a Sheikah.”

“This is Hyrule stuff,” he said. He pointed at the eastern door. “There is something very bad going on back there, and the rebellion needs to know. If they don’t… if they don’t, the badness that is happening in this palace could burn right through it and spread outside it. You understand?” 

Still frowning, she glanced over at the door and then back at him and nodded. “Why don’t you take the message if you can get someone out? Get yourself out.”

He considered the question seriously. It was a fair one and he didn’t have a good answer. Just a feeling. “This will, I think, go very bad before it gets better. If it gets better. I have… I am probably the only person in Castletown right now with firsthand experience of the kind of badness that’s happening. I might… I think I might be more useful here, than out there. And honestly…” He hesitated. “I’ve been walking a razor’s edge between breathing and not since my son was sent to the Dark World. I would feel better about that, about facing the other side of that edge, if I knew I had done something useful before falling over it. If I had saved someone, like I couldn’t save him, you understand? That would be worth a lot to me.”

“I understand,” she said slowly, and he wondered if she was thinking about her lost friends.

“It’s not a guarantee,” he said, “but it gives you a chance you won’t have in here. And my message needs to get out. It’s the only real chance everybody in here has, and even if not for us, then for everybody else.”

“Why only one?” she asked. “Why not all of us?”

“One-way door,” he said, “powered by magic. We don’t have a mage to reset it for us, so it’ll work once and once only. Will you do this for me?”

She hesitated. Her eyes moved over the gathered misery and he could see she wanted to leave badly, but still she hesitated. “Why me?” she asked. “Because I hid who you were? That’s thin reasoning to take a chance like this on me. You don’t know me. I could bolt as soon as I’m out of here.”

“Well,” Brayden said, “these are far from ideal circumstances, and I don’t have time to conduct an in-depth investigation into your intentions and tendencies and reliability. But you said my son tips you well and chats with you and that means he likes you and he has good instincts. I trust him.”

She gave him a look that was so unimpressed he almost laughed. “He probably just likes my cleavage,” she said. And then he did laugh, despite everything.

“He might,” he agreed. “But as simple a person as he can be sometimes, he sees much more than that when he looks at people. And I have nothing more to go on. You ask good questions, you took a risk to keep who I am a secret, and you were strangely convinced back at your bar that I was an inherently good person capable of doing the right thing despite personal feelings and interests, before you’d even met me. Least I can do is return that faith.”

He held her gaze for a long moment as she weighed all of that, and the risks, and the potential consequences, and the heavy responsibility that came with it, against the chance of freedom – for herself, and no one else. At last she took a deep breath and then let it out again slowly. 

“Okay,” she said. “What’s your message?”

***

Hunter and Neesha sat together in silence, watching the camp around them go about its business. Mostly, this business was sleeping, at least in the case of people who were (despite appearances in some cases) still alive. Moving between the fires like it was the middle of the day in the market, however, were the ghosts. Neesha scanned the transparent figures as they moved, looking for anyone she knew besides Jinni and Ketari, but while there were plenty of faces to scan, and even a few Gerudo, there was no one familiar. 

She wasn’t sure how she should feel about that. 

She noticed other things as she studied the eerie phantoms. Other details. Generally, though not always, she could figure out where they came from, what nation claimed them, but some of the modes of dress were strange. She was almost definitely, despite her youth, the most well-travelled Gerudo in several generations thanks to the strange company she kept. She had a good idea of what Hylians from any given place looked like, and what Sheikah looked like when they weren’t pretending to be Hylians, and it hadn’t been that long ago that she’d spent some time in Zora’s domain, and she knew what sorts of fashions they were getting into now, and some of these people didn’t match any of that. Some of them were older – great war era, going off the armour they wore and the wounds they bore, but some of them she thought were even older than that.

She stirred and made the observation out loud to Hunter. He blinked, pulled from wherever he’d gone in his head and looked around at the ghosts. “They’re from everywhere,” he said. “Every when.” He pointed at one particularly ostentatious looking Hylian. “He looks like he’s from maybe two hundred years ago. Hard to say for sure, our records get sketchy that far back. Her, I can’t even guess,” he added, pointing at another ghost. “It’s just some of them, though. Most of them…” he trailed off and frowned, thought about it, and reformulated his statement. “You know what’s concerning?” She didn’t bother answering. He had a habit of asking rhetorical questions and it wasn’t worth it to answer them unless you wanted to irritate him. “Most of them aren’t that old. Most of them are Great War or later.” He threaded his fingers through each other, focusing on the physical motion as he consider the implications of that. “I think Mauna’s right. I think something happened to the machinery of the world when Ganondorf took over. I think he did something to it.”

He looked on the verge of getting lost in his own thoughts again, so she said: “Is that what’s bothering you?”

It was like watching a man turn to stone. “A lot of things are bothering me, Neesha. I think it’s safe to say that’s on the list.”

She studied his face in profile for a second and then huffed out an irritated breath. “You know I’m not good at this,” she said, earning herself a surprised look. “You know I’m not good at getting you to talk about this stuff. I’m not Link, I can’t come over here and talk about the weather for a while and suddenly have you sobbing and spilling all your secrets.”

A displeased frown wriggled through the stone in Hunter’s face. “I don’t… I don’t sob. What—”

“Help me,” Neesha said, “help you. Because I’m not a very gentle person, and I’m okay with that, but I feel like maybe you’re a little brittle right now, and I don’t want to hurt you, okay?”

He turned away from her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She frowned. “No,” she corrected him, “you don’t want to have anything to talk about. That’s not the same thing. You can’t pretend whatever it is away, Hunter. Especially not here. Did that ever occur to you? That keeping it all inside and not letting anyone help you is playing right into the Dark World’s hands?”

He gave up ignoring her, which, honestly, he had known wouldn’t work, but also, his options were limited. “Maybe I’m not _ready_ to talk about it.”

Despite her best efforts her frown blossomed into a scowl. She pointed at where Jinni and Ketari were talking with someone they couldn’t see, playing out one idle memory or another. “They died _years_ ago, Hunter. _When_ are you going to be ready to talk about it?”

“They didn’t die,” he said, irritation working his jaw as he paused. “They were killed. It’s different.”

_Dead is dead is dead,_ thought Neesha, but didn’t bother to argue the point. Just like she didn’t bother to remind him that she’d been on that bridge too. It wasn’t his to bear alone, no matter how tunneled his vision got. It never had been.

“Besides,” he added, before she could think of something more useful to say, “it’s not about them. Or...I mean...it’s not about _that_. I just…” he gestured, inarticulate, as though trying to pull the words he needed from the air. That wasn’t, she felt, a great sign, given that he didn’t usually have trouble articulating the things in his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“About...about this!” he said, and gestured to take in, she assumed, the ghosts, and the Dark World, and the situation as a whole. “We have steps to take, yes. We have a sort of plan, sure. I mean, it’s a to-do list, let’s be honest, but whatever, that’s not my point. My point is… my point is: then what?”

“Then what, what?” she asked. “Saving the other...the other…”

“Sages’ descendants is probably less annoying than maidens if that’s what you’re trying to avoid,” he offered.

“Sage’s descendants,” she said, grateful for the suggestion. “Is saving them and stopping the moblins and locking all the badness back in here not enough for you?”

His expression took on that _look_ that it had been defaulting to since she’d woken up in Misery Mire. His version of Link’s “Dark World look”, except it hadn’t gone away when they’d realized what the Moon Pearl did. “No, Neesha,” he said, “I don’t think it is.”

She stared at him, trying to follow this. “Why not?”

He took in a deep breath and let it out again slowly, then pointed at Jinni and Ketari. “Doing what you said doesn’t get them out of this mess,” he said. “It doesn’t get my mother out of this mess. It doesn’t get… it doesn’t get Dad out of this mess.” His gaze was on the middle-distance, staring at something in his own head. “I can’t— It’s _my_ fault they— Dad and Jinni and Ket at least are—” His voice had gone raw on him, and she looked away long enough for him to pull it all back together. “I can’t just leave them in this state, Neesha. I couldn’t save their lives, fine, but I can’t let their afterlives be _this_.” He shook his head, and then the rest of himself for good measure. “And it’s not just them. It’s not just the ones that have gone before, Neesha. What about everyone who comes after? When… when Rue dies – don’t make that face, I know you don’t like to think about it, but I need you to right now – when she dies, do you want her to come here? And get stuck like the others? Or conscripted into even more service and more oaths than the ones she already gave her life for? Or...or whatever else it is that has these people so spooked? Do you want to go on living, knowing, even as you burn her body and consign her flesh to the Wind, do you want to have to do it knowing it doesn’t matter? Knowing she doesn’t get her rest? Knowing she’s stuck here? Knowing you will be too, one day?”

“Goddess dammit, Hunter, you are morbid,” Neesha replied. She was harsh about it, but he could see the uneasiness in her eyes as she thought about what he said.

“I’m just saying,” he replied, “because it’s something that maybe needs to be said. We can’t… unknow this. We can’t just forget it. And we can’t— I’m not sure we can leave it this way. I’m not sure… I don’t think I can go home until this is over. Until _all_ of it is over. And all I want in the world right now is to go home.”

Neesha said nothing for a long moment. She turned her eyes back out over the camp and thought about what she’d seen and understood so far about the Dark World and those trapped within it. Hunter didn’t interrupt her thoughts, but she knew he glanced at her every now and then, waiting for her response. Eventually she said, “It’s not just the dead. I don’t think we can leave the living here, either. They can’t get back through the Seals with us. We have to take them down.”

“If we do that,” Hunter said, without dissent or argument, “Ganon gets out.”

“Not,” Neesha replied, “if we take care of him first.”

“I think,” said a new voice from the side, “we should handle one thing at a time.” They both turned to look at Link, who was standing close enough that they both winced at not having noticed him approach. His face was serious, his unnaturally blue eyes stern, “But to be clear, I’m not ruling it out. I’m just saying let’s get the others home first. Then we can talk about next steps.”

And Hunter and Neesha both nodded, because honestly, one thing at a time was complicated enough. Hunter ran a hand through his hair and then scraped it down his face like he was trying to wipe something off. It was clearly an effort to pull his focus back onto their current problems, but he managed it. “So what did she say? What does she want?” he asked, glancing over at the fire where Mauna and Osae sat in quiet conversation.

Link made a face, like he wasn’t quite sure how to put it. “Well,” he said, slowly, “she wants us to kill their boss.”

“Their … boss?” Neesha said, and then her expression went incredulous. “You mean Valdyx?”

“The angel of death,” Link said. “Yeah.”

***

## Chapter 27 (cont.)

The map is impressive in its detail, and the Shepherds – apparently the title for Mauna and her living friends – let their fingers rest almost reverently against its edges after they’ve rolled it out. I don’t ask but reading between the lines on their faces and the shadows in their eyes, I’m guessing they paid dearly for every drop of ink on the large stretch of parchment.

It depicts a field, dotted with fortifications that are depressingly organized compared to what I’m used to seeing here. There are notes on patrol schedules and troop movements. A couple of the Shepherds immediately devolve into what sounds like a familiar argument between a handful of approach plans. One of the more spirited debaters is, naturally, Osae. I’m starting to think we’re not the only people who like arguing with him – or rather, that he likes arguing with.

Mauna is silent, but she watches us studying the map and waits for us to comment on the obvious gap: at the centre of the parchment, surrounded by all this beautifully rendered detail, is a giant, circular blank spot.

“Valdyx’s fortress,” Hunter guesses, raising an eyebrow at Mauna. She nods.

“Useful,” Neesha sighs, annoyed.

Osae straightens, immediately defensive. “We haven’t been able to get in. We’re not exactly a standing army, here.”

I can’t quite resist a glance around at the gathered Shepherds. There are maybe a dozen of them in total, plus twice that in ghosts, if they’re lucky. Call it thirty souls all around, less than half of whom can consistently interact with the physical plane. Valdyx, on the other hand, seems to have five or six times that in various Dark World Specials, plus an entrenched position and well-established defences. The Shepherds are more priestly than martial. 

So, no. They’re not exactly a standing army.

“It’s fine,” I say, noting Osae’s frustration echoed on the faces of the other Shepherds. “Not the first temple I’ve broken into without any idea of what was inside.” Which isn’t to say it was fun, any of the times I’ve done it. You can’t always count on a map, a keyring, and a useful tool hidden away in the first broom closet you come to.

“This isn’t like those times, Link,” Hunter says, like he can read my mind. “This isn’t one of Hyrule’s temples. Those were designed to be solved. And no matter how much you whine, they were built to be useful to you. This one,” he taps the great, empty spot at the map’s centre. “This one isn’t about you at all.” He ignores the way I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue at him in favour of looking up at Mauna. “What was it originally? Before Ganon touched the Triforce.”

She gives him the slightest of smiles, like she was waiting for someone to ask the question. The look is subtle enough that I stop making faces and frown sharply at her. That she knows things she’s not telling us has been obvious from the start, but it’s irritating to see it so plainly on her face.

“It was a place of rest,” she says. “Not all souls are ready to move on when they die. Before, they would all come here, to the Sacred Realm, and they could take their time coming to terms with their death, and all the work they left unfinished. They could wander if they wished, visit with the Makani if they wished, speak with each other or with us if we were here,” she gestures at herself and the Shepherds, “and eventually, they could accept that they were dead, and it was time to move on.” She pauses – not quite a hesitation, I think, more a feint. She doesn’t glance at the other Shepherds, but she not-glances at them so hard it’s impossible to miss. The instant they all relax, just so, she adds: “To let themselves be carried to the Cauldron and rejoin the cycle of this world.”

There is a sharp intake of breath from the Shepherds – an actual squawk from Osae – and Hunter’s head snaps up the way it does when he realizes he hasn’t heard any noise from me and Neesha in a while and his dignity is in imminent and mortal danger.

“When they were ready for that,” Mauna continues, like nothing notable happened at all, “they came here. To Valdyx’s Temple. To rest and prepare, to record their final thoughts for Mudora’s records, and to take Valdyx’s hand for the second time in their existence and be carried into the Cauldron.” Osae squawks again and moves like he’s going to rush her, but Hunter snaps his hand out without even looking and blocks him before he can interrupt. “There, existence ends, and the little bit of divinity in all living things is reclaimed and fed back into the cycle set in motion by the Goddesses when they created the world.”

“Mauna,” says Osae, with such a depth of betrayal that I actually feel a little bad for him.

But she just sighs. “Osae, he’s the Hero. His soul is older than mine. And that one is a Sheikah, which are the closest thing the Shepherds have to a spiritual successor active in the world these days. I think it’s okay to be a little more open with some things, given our current extenuating circumstances.”

Osae, who doesn’t seem able to refute this logic but nonetheless still suspects some great sin has been committed, gestures at Neesha. “Well what about her? She’s none of those things.”

“She wasn’t even listening,” Mauna says dryly.

“What?” Neesha demands, irritated at being pulled away from her study of the emplacements outlined on the map. “Blah blah religious stuff. I don’t care. Anyway, you’re asking us to kill the Avatar of Death, so I don’t think you’re in a position to be stingy with information.” She glances at Hunter. “And it doesn’t matter what the place was before, it’s not gonna be that now.”

“No,” he says, “but it’ll be a perversion of it. We might be able to guess some things if we understand what it _was_.”

The discussion dissolves into the usual sort of argument – one that will be annoying and frustrating for everyone involved, but probably actually come to some useful and interesting conclusions – and I try to pay attention to it, but I can’t quite manage it. There’s something in what Mauna said. Something that’s bothering me, and not the way Osae’s insistent interjections bother me. It’s deeper than that. 

Call it my Hero sense, just not where Neesha can hear you say it.

The empty circle at the centre of the map stares back at me, pale and menacing. “Mauna,” I say softly.

She is at my side instantly. “Yes, Hero?” she replies, just as soft.

“The Cauldron … it’s one of those Divine Systems you mentioned? The ones underpinning the world?”

“Correct.”

“So it would still be there, wouldn’t it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the gap. “It couldn’t be erased or stopped by Ganon’s wish.”

“Correct.”

“But …” A growing nausea makes me swallow. “But it could respond to his wish. He could use it. Exploit it, like you were afraid.”

“Correct,” she says again, and this time her voice is very soft indeed. “Ask the question, Hero. You don’t strike me as one to dance around it.”

I hesitate, mostly because I don’t want the confirmation. Because I don’t want to have to think about the implications. Because I don’t want to feel grateful that what happened to Aunt Aeria was that and not this. But Mauna’s right. Dancing never got me anywhere. “Where do the Moblins come from?”

I don’t know if I just happened to speak during a lull in the conversation or if the weight of the question gave it metaphysical volume, but all other discussion stops as everyone turns to look at us. The Shepherd’s expressions are guarded and unhappy. Hunter’s and Neesha’s slacken with growing horror as they follow the thread of that question back to its source.

As one we all turn to look at the hole in the centre of the map.

“The Cauldron,” Mauna answers. “He wished for an army of monsters. So the Cauldron gives him monsters. But it needs divine material to work with.”

“The souls of the dead,” Hunter says, and his voice is so hoarse mine aches in sympathy.

There’s a soft rattle, and I realize it’s Osae’s shoulders sagging. He runs a bony hand along the top of his skull, like he’s running his fingers through hair that’s not there anymore. “We try to keep them away,” he says, and glances over at Jinni and Ket, watching us intently from the edges of the firelight. “We wake up the ones we find, assuming they’re not so far gone that even we can’t reach them. We protect them from Valdyx’s ghost grabbers. But … we’re not as many as we used to be. Less and less as time goes on. And … people in Hyrule keep dying. There’s never any shortage of fuel for them to take.” He shakes his head with something dangerously close to helplessness. “We can’t be everywhere at once.”

“We need—” I start, but I’m cut off by Zelda’s presence, flooding back into my head.

_Link?_ I’d been very carefully not paying attention to the breath I’d been holding since waking up and realizing she wasn’t there, but now I let it come back in a rush of relief. _Assuming one doesn’t have a Master Sword or magic powers, how would one kill a stalfos for good?_

There is a beat while I contemplate that non-sequitur, and she contemplates the surroundings in which I find myself.

_I have questions,_ Zelda says at the same time as I answer the original one by saying, _You don’t._

“Is there something wrong with him?” Osae demands, staring at me.

Hunter waves him off with an irritated noise. “Zelda?” he asks hopefully.

_I suspected you were going to say that. What are my options?_

“Zelda,” I say out loud, both answering Hunter and requesting clarification from my princess.

_Options, Link._

“Hunter, Neesha,” I say, “if you were dealing with a stalfos and I wasn’t there with the Master Sword, how would you do it?”

“Bomb,” says Neesha without even thinking about it.

“Steal a bone and run,” Hunter responds. “Can’t reform if it’s missing a piece.”

I glance at Osae in case he has any ideas. He stares back and I can see his offence in the stiffness of his spine, if not his bony face. “Not all skeletons are stalfos.”

“Why?” Hunter asks.

“I would love to tell you,” I reply, contemplating the once again empty, Zelda-shaped space left in my head, “unfortunately our princess is in another castle...”

***

## A Brief Interlude

One thing Impa had always been good at was prioritizing. The conversation with Renaud and Mel had included no good news, and most of it needed to be actioned. She supposed, on some level, she should have forced Mel to return with her – leaving a convicted traitor running around during a mission as tenuous as this one (with no active Sheikah left to oversee, no less) was a decision that history would judge harshly if things went as poorly as they seemed likely to do – but Impa cared little for hypothetical histories. The lessons to be learned from the present belonged to future generations; they would help no one today, and today Impa needed boots on the ground.

A passive and a traitor it was, then.

She had left them with instructions to focus on preparing for the arrival of the Gerudo forces. The latest reports had them arriving not long after sunrise, not counting any interference from Beamos Company, and that was the plan they were to stick to. The Hylian military was up to Bel, Liam and Eldrick (another traitor, a young man promoted well past his point of competence, and a spoiled Hylian lord who was little more than a boy – _Ah, well,_ thought Impa to herself, _if I cannot secure a brighter future for tomorrow’s youth, at least I shall serve as a valuable object lesson for them_ ).

Which just left Brayden to deal with. Ordinarily she would have, with quiet regrets, left him to either find his own way out of his predicament or else to wait for the battle to end and rescue to come (in time, or not). He was one man, and war didn’t stop for a single soldier captured.

But he was also the central figure of their little rebellion – a rebellion already so stocked with martyrs that adding one more, especially one its members actually knew on a firsthand basis, one they trusted to deliver them and lead them and make them useful in a time when nobody seemed entirely sure what to do, would likely do what Durnam had yet to manage and break its spirit entirely. They needed that rebellion in place until the Gerudo arrived.

And if the Gerudo never arrived, well … then that rebellion was all they had for the foreseeable future.

So she made her way through a night that felt heavy against her shoulders, slipping through the silence and the shadows, to visit a handful of doors and windows belonging to those who knew how to listen for her knocks – not Sheikah, these, but just as loyal. A network carefully cultivated over long decades of calling Castletown home. 

Disturbing, how many of those windows had been broken and how many doors kicked in. Of seven visited, she found only two, and of these, only one was able to tell her anything.

The palace, her spy reported, was in lockdown. Servants’ paths too. The spy had tried the secret passages she knew of, but had been unable to get very far. Patrols were thick, magical wards were everywhere, and the moblins seemed to have the run of the place. She had not been able to penetrate deep enough to find any sign of those taken in the raids and had not heard a whisper about Brayden specifically. The look on her face told Impa all she needed to know of her assessment of the odds.

Impa thanked her for the information and disappeared back into the night.

She let her feet lead her toward the temple district and the Temple of Time slumbering therein. Had she been younger, perhaps she would have been more brash, headed straight to the castle to see how much farther the Sage of Shadow could make it than an informant who was more broker than agent. But the memory of a tiny black butterfly of a soul pinned inside a bottle of light was never far from mind these days, and the news of magical wards significant enough that a near-civilian could tell they were there gave her pause. She would not be so easy to bottle a second time, but that didn’t mean she was eager to give them the chance.

Torches blazing, she thought. Every candle lit. They’ll leave me little shadow to weave. I would do the same if I thought I might come. And if they didn’t think she’d come, then they had gotten very far indeed on luck. 

He may not even be in there.

Brayden was quick, he always had been, but Impa wasn’t the only one getting older. She could see it in his face now, when they spoke. He was tired. He was flagging. He was young yet for Summerfell, but she would have offered it to him ages ago if she’d thought he’d have taken it. If the need for experienced Sheikah hadn’t escalated so quickly. If things hadn’t gotten so far out of hand so fast.

Brayden had done his duty. There was none who could say he had not served the _Quis_ well. That he had not sacrificed enough for it – even by Sheikan standards. He wasn’t a Sage. He was a middle-aged man who had lived a life that had not often been kind to him. Sooner or later that slowed you down. And sooner or later, seconds mattered.

He might be dead already.

Or, she added loyally, he might have been recognized and moved somewhere else. He might not be in the palace at all, and infiltration might only serve to tip their hand and heighten security that was already higher than they had the resources to manage.

It was, Impa decided, deeply unsettling to know so little of what was going on in this city. People tended to forget that she was a Chosen Sheikah. That she had been born, not in the blanketing darkness of the Caverns, but in the sharp corners and angled shadows of Castletown. In these streets she had found herself, come to know herself. In these streets she had made her compact with the darkness. In these streets the secrets of this ancient city had always been hers, hung like black fruit on a tree made of commerce and cobblestone.

When she came at last to the Temple of Time, she climbed its dignified steps and turned to observe the city around it. It was dark, darker than it should have been, even with the building snow. Few torches blazed in the streets, fewer candles in the curtained windows. A silence lay heavy on top of it, woven of fear and confusion and a collective holding of breath. Everyone, it seemed, was waiting for the long night to pass. Impa narrowed her eyes.

This city’s secrets were _hers_. Even the festering, rotted ones. And there was no magic here, or in the dark, twisted reflection of this place, that would deny her access to them.

She opened herself up, like a terrible flower blooming. The shadows cast around the churchyard grew longer and deeper, interlacing with each other in complicated knots and puddles and pools. The light from the Temple of Time dimmed, respectfully, as the shadows swirled around Impa’s feet, danced over her face, played against the marble walls behind her like a frightening puppet show. And Impa tilted her head and welcomed them.

Zelda had asked her once, when the girl had still been small and curious, her shoulders yet unbowed beneath the weight of her own destiny, what it was like, conversing with the shadows. Impa wasn’t entirely sure what she meant – the queen had recently died, it might have been a question about mortality. The war was escalating, and Impa had never sheltered her from it; it might have been a question about death on a scale she was too young to truly comprehend. Zelda, even then, was the Seventh Sage, and sometimes knew things she shouldn’t have; it might have been a question about Impa.

She hadn’t answered her then – no shelter, perhaps, but no cruelty either, and sometimes what a child really needed was a gentle kiss and a calming hand and an old Sheikan lullaby to coax them back to sleep – but if she had, she would have said it is a little like being underground, in a very dark cave, and listening to the whisper and the roar of a great river you can’t see, and knowing that it is alive, and it is cold, and it is dangerous. It doesn’t love you, the river, it can’t. It’s not for that. But the Goddesses trusted you to love it, and they gave you the tools to swim with its currents and dive into its depths, as deep into the darkness as you’re willing to go.

And so, on the steps of the Temple of Time, Impa dove into that river once more and let it carry her through the old streets of Castletown. It offered her glimpses and fragments of things it thought she might want: a member of the guard expressing reflexive hope that Beamos Company would show those Gerudo what’s what, but with a hollowness behind her voice and her eyes that suggested the opposite; a man sobbing alone in the wreckage of an upturned kitchen, uncaring of the snow swirling in through the door; a room full of mirrors, each displaying their own pilfered secrets, and a moblin sitting between them like an oil stain on the vision. Its porcine gaze was sharp, and the glass it watched showed the Lord Durnam, his cheeks hollower than she remembered, his gaze haunted. Though this last image was tempting, she politely considered each, before declining. None of them were useful to her right now.

Several more visions were offered up to her, and while each fragment gave her a better sense of the state of the city at large, she continued to reject them, until finally, one gave her pause. A woman she recognized only from reports – they kept close tabs on anyone the Hero of Time interacted with with any regularity. She had a sword in her hand and had it raised. Her technique was simple and straightforward, reasonably competent for a civilian, and well suited to an innkeeper, which, Impa knew, was what she was. Or what she had been, judging by the cut across her cheekbones and the blood on her clothing and the snarl on her face. Impa didn’t need to see the colours on the tabards of the three opponents surrounding her – Durnam’s, of course – to know she’d been having a rough night.

More interesting, however, was that those liveried soldiers were not soldiers at all, but moblins, angry and mean. The first ones Impa had seen all night outside the palace walls. Her awareness flicked back over to the woman. _Well now, little bird,_ she thought, _what cage did you escape from that has the cat chasing you down?_

One of the moblins stepped forward, raising a nasty looking sword, and fear sent cracks through the innkeeper’s snarling expression. “I’ll kill you,” she hissed at them, with absolutely no conviction at all.

“No,” corrected Impa, and every blade in the alley came up as their wielders whipped their heads around, looking for the interloper, “but I will.” She stepped out of the darkness of the metaphorical river and into the concrete shadows of the alleyway. One of the moblins had time for a single, panicked shout, but it was punctuated by the flash of moonlight on Sheikan blades and followed by three dull, wet thuds. The moblins fell to the snow-covered cobblestones and didn’t rise again.

She turned from their bodies to face the innkeeper, who still had her sword up, her eyes a little wild. The woman’s mouth worked, but no sound came out, and she seemed to try to press herself even harder against the wall. 

Smiling, slight but sympathetic, Impa sheathed her knives and undid the top of her coat, pulling it open to reveal the Sheikah symbol decorating her chest.

The innkeeper made a sound like she was exhaling the longest hour ever lived since the one right after the Goddesses had left the world, and lowered her blade. With an admirable attempt at a steady voice, she said: “I have a message for you.”

“You know,” said Impa, “I rather thought you might.”

***

They stood at the top of the stairs, two women in one body, panting hard and watching the pile of bones at the bottom. Something in the expression on the gently freckled face was reminiscent of a hawk, waiting to see if the shadows in the grass were going to resolve into something worth swooping down on.

The bones didn’t move.

_Are we dead?_ Malon asked, and Zelda was gratified to hear confirmation in her tone that the panic making the body’s heart race wasn’t felt by her alone. That had come very close to ending their excursion, and potentially their lives. They were nowhere near the giant bari here. She had no idea what would happen to their ineffable bits if Malon’s body died while Zelda was driving it. Nor was she a fan of letting Malon’s effable bits find their end that way.

She had always been a firm believer in returning things in the same or better condition than you had borrowed them.

_We are not,_ she answered, projecting her best Effortless Confidence Voice. She started down the stairs at a jog, eyeing the metal glinting under the ribcage. It had been a long time indeed since she’d had to wing things as hard as she was winging them right now, but there was a certain sharp focus that having no significant resources gave one, and right now it was honing in on the potential of that blade. _Have you ever used a sword, Malon?_

_No_ , came the reply, the tone a verbal shrug. _Unless you count that time I helped kill Ganon with one, but I don’t. Hunter tried to teach me, but I found it boring. I’m decent with a bow._

Different muscles for a bow, but Zelda didn’t bother pointing that out. She thought about warning Malon that whenever she got her body back she was probably going to be sore as hell, but honestly, that prospect seemed so optimistic and far away that she couldn’t bring herself to speak it out loud.

She leapt off the staircase with three stairs left to go and brought Malon’s heavy work boots down on the stalfos’ skull with a nasty crunching sound. _I think,_ she told Malon approvingly as she bent down to retrieve a fragment of the shattered brain case, _I might need to get myself a pair of these boots_. The other woman didn’t reply, but she felt her satisfaction and agreement and could almost picture the expression the body would be wearing if Malon had been the one driving.

The small fragment of bone was warm in her hands, and even through third-party flesh she could feel the black magic radiating off of it. _Do you have something I can wrap this in?_ she asked.

_Ew, why?_ Malon demanded.

_Because Neesha’s idea was a bomb, but I figured you’re more likely to have a purse._

_Some of us aren’t dumb enough to carry explosives around in our pockets,_ came the tart reply. Zelda wished Link’s penchant for doing just that hadn’t come in handy as many times as it had. It would be nice to be able to agree with the perfectly sensible sentiment underlying the words. _I had a coin purse, I think, when they took me. Check the pocket on the left._

Wriggling bone held firmly in one hand, Zelda dug into the pocket with the other. It was significantly deeper than she was used to, and Malon had put it to effective use. She rejected a spare bandana, a leather-bound journal, a safety pin, three dirty nails, a pocket knife, a bit of something she thought might be chicken feed, a small pair of pliers, a piece of wrapped charcoal, a short, thin piece of rope that felt like the kind of thing that had a specific name and purpose, though Zelda could not say she had any idea what it was for, and a currycomb that she _did_ recognize before she found a sensible coin purse, tied with a straightforward leather thong. 

_Wait!_ Malon said as she moved to put the bone fragment into it. _Take the money out first._

_Why?_ Zelda asked as she acquiesced, dumping the contents of the purse back into the skirts.

_Because I am not using that purse ever again after you put that cursed thing in it, and I would hate to have to burn good rupees with it when I do._

That prompted a snicker from Zelda, punctuated by her sliding the bone fragment into the newly emptied purse. She pulled the thong as tight as she could get it, wrapped it around the purse again for good measure, then secreted it back in the bottomless pit of a pocket. The rest of the skeleton, still scattered around her feet, began to twitch, but the heavy material she’d buried the fragment in weighted it down and kept its shudders from distracting. _Clever boy, your Hunter,_ she said.

_Too clever by half,_ Malon replied, but there was pride in her voice. _Surprised you needed him, though don’t tell him I said that. You used to adventure. I would have figured you’d killed a few of these things before._

Zelda gave the twitching pile of bones a couple of good kicks to scatter the rest of them away from each other. _Sure, dozens,_ she said, bending down to retrieve the stalfos’ scimitar from the floor. It was heavy, but Malon was clearly no stranger to heavy lifting. Swinging it around was going to pull things, but carrying it wasn’t going to bother a body used to physical labour. _But normally I’ve got my Seventh Sage powers to rely on. I would beat them to pieces and then sanctify the bones. That would stop them permanently. And most of the rest of the time, if I’m not by myself, then Link is there, and he’s got the Master Sword—_

_And a pocket full of bombs._

_—and a pocket full of bombs. So, between the two of us …_ She made a few experimental thrusts and swings with the sword, trying to get a sense for the differences between doing it in Malon’s body and doing it in her own or in Sheik’s. She quickly decided the best option was going to be not swinging it at all, but she didn’t relinquish it either.

She moved away from the staircase, leaving the shuddering bones behind. Now that the frantic flight from the stalfos was over, their pace returned to a careful, quiet creep. The walls and ceilings of the corrupted temple rose high above them, looming and full of shadows, and Zelda was far too aware of the potential menagerie of monsters that could be lurking around every corner, or clinging to the walls near the broken stained glass windows. She paused to listen often and moved away from any doors or hallways that seemed inhabited.

The temple was a maze, but her father, Nayru guide his soul, had gifted her with a decent head for physical space and her mother had passed down a strong sense of direction. She had been wandering the labyrinth for long enough now that she was starting to get a feel for its shape.

There was also the twinkling of a thought starting to form in her head. She hesitated to call it an idea – it wasn’t fully formed enough for that, and she wasn’t in a position to flesh it out – but when you were winging it, you had to be alert to opportunities and she was starting to think this might be one.

She had only connected with Link for a moment – pressing concerns and all that – but it had been long enough for a glimpse of his current situation. Since she had said goodnight to him, just hours before, he had somehow found gone from sleeping in a cave to being out in the open, surrounded by strangers and ghosts, looking at something like a half-finished battle map while everyone around him looked grim and scared and nauseous. She couldn’t even say she was surprised. These days she was mostly just glad he wasn’t bleeding to death when she popped into his head.

Still. That battle map. Unless things had _really_ gotten out of hand (always a possibility), she suspected she knew what it was a battle map of. And that giant gap in the middle of it …

Well …

It wouldn’t be the first time she had filled in some details on a map someone else had drawn for Link, would it?

First things first, though. She needed more information, but to do that she’d have to talk to Link, and to do that – to really do that – she’d need to get Malon’s body somewhere safe so she could focus more. And she didn’t want to hide Malon away until she had explored a little more of this place, just in case they _were_ found and went back to square one. At a minimum she wanted to maybe find the way out.

Or, perhaps more accurately, the way in.

## Chapter 27 (cont.)

“Is this what it feels like to be her?” I ask. I’m laying on my back and staring at the swirling mass of angry-looking clouds that pass for a sky in this place. The rest of the conversation at the map table started going in circles, and Hunter, Neesha and I started showing obvious signs that we aren’t used to working the metaphorical (for us) graveyard shift, so Mauna called for a break and told us to get some rest. That’s, like, definitely not happening, though, so now we’re all camped out here with our nerves twanging like an overstrung lute and nothing to distract us from the sound. My thoughts are starting to get fuzzy around the edges. “Is this what I do to her?”

“Is what what you do to who?” Hunter asks, with that tone that means he’s pretty sure the answer is yes, but he would just hate to be inaccurate when assessing the exact genre and intensity of pain in the ass I am being to someone.

“Zelda,” I say, like this should be obvious even though I’ve been having this entire conversation with myself in my head and not out loud where he could possibly have any idea what I’m talking about. “She just, like … disappeared for a while, and then smashed into my head with a really concerning question about how to kill a Stalfos with no powers, gave me exactly zero context, and then smashed back out again. And I have to sit here, just, like … is she okay? What is going on? Why is she fighting a stalfos? _How_ is she fighting a stalfos? What is going on? Isn’t she supposed to be trapped in a crystal? Why can’t she just use her powers? _What_ is going _on_?” I pause. “She said she was thinking of throwing a party last night. Tonight. A few hours ago, whatever. I thought she was being sarcastic.”

Neesha makes a face at me. “I don’t think she’d invite a stalfos to a party.” Hunter gives her a look like, _that’s_ what you think is wrong with that statement?

“Do you have _any_ idea,” I say, “any idea at all, of how many parties I have been to that I wasn’t invited to?”

“She’s not throwing a party, Link,” Hunter says, because he can’t handle the thought of having to watch this line of faulty logic be pursued any farther. “And yes, this is _exactly_ what you do to her. Constantly. She is going to be gray before she’s thirty and it’s going to be all your fault.”

I make a face up at the sky that is too complicated to assign a single emotion to, but it’s somewhere in the area where sadness overlaps with worry and brushes up against the border of defensiveness.

Whatever it is, it makes Hunter sigh. “It’s just a stalfos,” he notes. “She can handle a stalfos.”

“But _why_ is she handling a stalfos?” I sit up and give him an urgent look, like if I could just solve this mystery, I could somehow resolve the whole situation. Save the Maidens, heal the Dark World, not live a life where people ( _multiple_ people!) can say things like ‘I need you to kill the Angel of Death’ to me with a perfectly straight face. I can feel myself going wild around the eyes but there’s nothing I can do about that, except probably sleep, and that stopped being an option at _least_ five unexpected events ago. “Hunter, she’s supposed to be in a crystal.”

“Maybe she got out,” Neesha says. She makes a wiggly gesture with her fingers that is generally her way of referring to magic powers. It’s interesting, because it’s just a gesture, but she always manages to make it look dismissive. “She’s weird.”

“Could you wait until I’m not extremely worried about her ongoing health and welfare to call her names?” I demand.

Neesha makes an expression like rolling her eyes, but with her entire body. “I’m not calling her names, you sand eater. I’m saying she’s weird. She’s different than the rest of us. I don’t remember my time in the crystal because I wasn’t awake for it.” She gestures at Hunter. “Neither does he. Neither did Laruto as far as we could tell. But Zelda’s going to because she’s not asleep. She’s been talking your ear off ever since I so kindly gave you my pearl.”

“Sahasrahla’s pearl,” Hunter corrects. “Which you stole.”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but she points at him in an extremely threatening manner.

“She stole it from Agahnim, Hunter, that doesn’t count,” I say, because if I don’t step in here this will probably escalate. “But it _is_ Sahasrahla’s pearl,” I add before she can decide that means I support her claim that stolen squared equals legitimate ownership.

Hunter looks, for a minute, like he might pursue the subject anyway. The bags under his eyes are at least as dark as the ones under mine, we _all_ need sleep, and that, plus the general Dark World ambience, plus the reopening of old grief, minus the closure that funerals once offered, plus that fact that we spent like an hour staring at a map, and there are still some hard feelings in certain quarters around here about _maps_ … the current situation just isn’t conducive to mature, rational thinking is what I’m saying.

But he rallies heroically at the last minute and manages to not pick the fight. “I know you’re worried, Link. So am I. But there’s no way to know what’s going on with the information we have. None of it makes sense, which means we’re missing too many pieces. We can’t do anything about it until she reaches out to you again.”

“Well…” I say at the same time as Neesha says, “Technically…” Because there _is_ something we can do, which is to say charging the place and kicking down the front door. Neither of us thought that was a good idea before, but if Zelda’s in there, out of her crystal, and fighting stalfos without backup…

“Okay,” says Hunter, and I watch his resolve to remain mature disintegrate. “If you two keep—”

“Hey, have you seen Mauna?”

All three of us look over as Osae rushes up. I realize with a start that there has been a disturbance of some kind in the camp while I was contemplating the effect of my life and my decisions on the people around me for what I’m sure many would insist is the first time in my life. The Shepherds are all gathered in groups, speaking to each other with worry and stress clear on their faces and in the lines of their bodies.

“No,” I say, turning my attention back to the skeleton with a frown. “Why? What’s going on?”

Osae does that gesture, like he’s running his hand through hair that isn’t there, but he does it with both hands, which communicates a high level of stress to me. “She said she was going to pray, but she’s been gone for thirty minutes and when I went to check, she was gone. No one’s seen her.”

Hunter is on his feet. “Is that normal?”

Osae turns to look at him. There is, of course, no expression on his face, on account of it being a skull and having no muscle or skin, but I’ve got enough of a feel for him now that I’m ready for the incredulous tone when it leaves his mouth. “Does it look like that’s normal?”

Hunter gives him a look that make me wish, real bad, that I could see the two of them interact in circumstances that are way more normal than anything the Dark World is ever going to offer. It’s not that they’re the same person, because they’re super not, but there is enough of an overlap there that I think they would drive each other insane in a way that would be both deeply satisfying for Neesha and I to observe, and also well beyond our ability to instigate on our own. “Does that sound like a useful response to what was clearly a request for context?” Hunter snaps in response.

Downside of that, of course, would be that I’m pretty sure these two are capable of getting mean. Like, I know I’m the most likely to fly into a rage, and Neesha’s most likely to be grossly insensitive to the feelings of even the people she cares about, and that tends to make people think we’re the ones to be concerned about, but only because they’ve never seen Hunter get _really_ mad. Neesha and I might get hard to deal with, but neither of us sets out to burn bridges, even at our worst, and credit where it’s due, we’re usually sorry after (well, _I_ am. Neesha’s been known to double-down, but that’s mostly her guilt triggering her pride. She gets over it eventually). 

Hunter, though… he doesn’t just pack his own matches, he brings a bucket of salt to make sure nothing ever grows back up out of the ashes when its done.

Note to self, I think, watching Hunter’s current expression warily, in addition to getting some sleep, maybe give Hunter some time holding the Moon Pearl as soon as the sun comes back up and the risk of turning into a monster without it is gone. I exchange a glance with Neesha and get the impression the same thought is running through her head.

We get to our feet as well. “Tell us where to look and we’ll go look,” I say before Osae can reply. “Maybe she just went for a walk.” Literally nobody here thinks she just went for a walk, but it’s technically possible and it’s better than saying any of the alternatives out loud.

Osae doesn’t react for a second, keeping his face turned toward Hunter for a moment that feels just a second too long. But at last he nods – is it just me, or does the motion seem uncertain? Farore, I wish he had a face so I could tell how worried he is. “It’s this way,” he says, but then he raises a hand as though to stop us from following him. We stop, confused and annoyed, but then he says, “No, you two should stay here,” and I realize he’s looking behind us.

I glance over my shoulder and see Jinni and Ketari, who have materialized right behind us, looking very much so like they intend to follow us out of the camp. They’re ghosts, so I can’t be one hundred percent confident in this assessment, but also, they have faces, and I have a new appreciation for how much that counts for in terms of successful communication. Ketari is wearing a memory in which she looks amused and Jinni is wearing one of what I’m sure are thousands in which she looks utterly unimpressed.

“Guys, come on,” Osae says, exasperated. “It’s the middle of the night. The Ghost Grabbers are out in force. Stay here. The other Shepherds can protect you.”

Jinni’s form fuzzes for a moment, and then she’s not standing behind us anymore, she’s standing between us and Osae and just sort of scowling down at him in a way that is so familiar I can feel one of my overstrung nerves snap and lash my heart as it recoils. It’s a look that doesn’t exactly say ‘make me’, but that does suggest that unless you think you _can_ make her, you should probably stop wasting everyone’s time. 

A strange sound pulls my attention away from Jinni’s face. It sounds like it’s coming from far away and down a very long tunnel, distorted enough that it takes me a second to place it. Once I do, I turn and raise an eyebrow at Ketari, who is definitely snickering.

Osae is getting whiny now. “You know how this works and you’ve never had an issue with it before. Stay with the other Shepherds, please.” Jinni doesn’t move. Osae throws his hands up in the air. “You’ve always listened before! Why are you being like this?!”

I lean over to look at him from behind her, which feels more polite than looking at him through her. “That’s probably my fault,” I say. “She was acting in the role of my bodyguard when she died.” Someone needs to acknowledge how good a job I just did keeping my voice steady as I said that, because it wasn’t easy. “I’m sort of her King.”

Osae sighs and I’m a little impressed at how unfazed he is by the revelation that I’m a Gerudo King – that is _not_ the usual reaction. “All right. Can _you_ tell her to stand down? It’s safer for her here.”

Neesha snorts and I say, “Oh no, it does _not_ work like that at all.”

Osae stares at me in way I assume is meant to convey a lack of comprehension, on account of how most people understand the word ‘King.’

“Look,” I say, “are the Ghost Grabbers something I can hit with a sword?” I have not had nearly enough sleep to try to explain the intricacies of the many contradictions that form the substance of my life right now. 

Osae tilts his head and shrugs in what I take for a general affirmative. “I mean, I guess, but—”

“Then I’ll just hit the stupid things with my sword if any of them show up.” I gesture for him to proceed.

He swings his face around the group of us, apparently confirms that he’s not going to be finding any support for an argument here, and then sighs and turns around to lead us away from the camp and toward where it was they lost track of Mauna.

Jinni and Ketari fall into step with us as we follow Osae, Jinni in the lead and Ketari bringing up the rear, with me, Hunter and Neesha in between them. Like we’re kids they need to corral. Or friends they want to defend. Or maybe a little bit of both. I guess we were both when they died. The thought joins forces with my lack of sleep and I feel something in my face get dangerously wobbly.

This is so complicated. This is so damn complicated. They’re here. They’re walking with us. They’re willing to fight with us, like they always were. But they’re still dead. I can’t just cancel all my mourning and celebrate, because they’re not actually back, not really. They’re not going to be able to come home with us. And even if we manage to do what we’re setting out to do, it won’t change that. Nothing can change that.

Well.

Almost nothing.

_In a realm that’s beyond sight,_ I think, the old children’s rhyme coming back to me unsolicited and unwanted, _the sky shines gold not blue…_

If I try to unpack that particular box right now, I think I will have a legitimate breakdown. In fact, this entire train of thought is bad, and I need to get off it right now. “Osae,” I say, more forcefully than I meant to, and now I have to clear my throat and try not to look embarrassed when everyone, including my dead friends, turn to look at me in surprise. Right, time to pretend like that was totally normal, and _they’re_ the ones being weird. “Hunter said the Shepherds are an offshoot of the Sheikah, is that true?”

“Other way around, I believe,” Osae says, and turns forward again to continue leading us toward the hill that overlooks the camp. “But it’s been so long, probably only Valdyx knows who’s really the cucoo and who’s really the egg. Our own history is oral. In some ways that’s better. Goes back farther than the Sheikah’s because it can’t be destroyed as long as at least one of us is able to pass it on. Can’t be lost. To an extent, it can’t be taken out of context, because we’re the only ones telling it, and we only tell it to each other.” He shrugged. “Can’t be easily compared to original or older versions, though, to make sure the details haven’t drifted down the generations. But I suppose once you’ve been around long enough, that’ll be true of written history too.”

He comes to a stop at the top of the hill and we join him. It’s definitely Mauna-free, but it gives us a decent view of the camp below and the mix of long grass and black marsh beyond (I am never going to have dry socks again, am I?). In the distance I can see Valdyx’s temple, which looks about how you would expect the corrupted angel of death’s Dark World palace to look.

I try to think of something sarcastic to say about Ganon here, maybe about his decorating taste or how hard he’s trying to make it clear he’s the bad guy, like any of us could have missed that, but the thought that comes to mind instead is how much does a guy have to hate himself for _this_ to be the reflection of his innermost soul?

“All right,” I say, doing my best to not be relieved by the fact that Mauna is potentially in trouble because it gives me something to think about that isn’t _any_ of the things I _have_ been thinking about, including _that one_. “Let’s see if we can find a sign of where she’s gone.”

We spread out across the hilltop, scanning the ground for tracks or any other signs of presence or motion or whatever might be here. I find nothing, which I’m going to go ahead and blame on the bags under my eyes. Neesha also finds nothing, but in her case, she insists it’s actually something: “Hey, what’s that light?”

I straighten and turn to look in the direction she’s peering. She’s not looking at the ground, she’s looking out over the marsh and the field. There is no light out there that I can see. She points at me when I shoot her a doubtful look. “There was a light.”

“Okay,” I say, because I don’t think I have an argument in me right now.

“Osae, did she normally light a fire when she prayed?” Hunter asks, but there’s a frown in his voice that causes me to turn and look at what’s prompted the question. He’s down on one knee in the grass, poking at what looks like a pile of ashes – but it doesn’t look like a firepit. There’s no charcoal, no stones. Just a pile of fine, grey ash.

“No,” says Osae, and in his voice is enough despair that I don’t think he’s answering the question, I think he’s reacting to what the question means. He’s staring at the pile of ash. “No, no, no! Something’s taken her!”

I open my mouth to say something hopefully useful, but the next second Neesha’s grabbed the neck of my tunic and hauled on it so hard I spin and stumble in the direction she’s facing. Now I open my mouth to snarl something definitely angry, but the words die in my mouth as my brain processes what I saw in the half second after my vision swung back out toward the marsh.

It was a light. Brief, but bright as Hell (or… well, not Hell, since that’s literally where we are and it’s called the Dark World for a reason, but… listen, I’m tired).

“Mauna!” Osae gasps, and I realize he saw it too. “Oh!” He starts down the hill, like he’s going to go rushing out there to do something about whatever it is he thinks he saw, but I jump at him and grab his arm to stop him.

“You,” I say, “do not have a sword. Tell us what’s going on, then go back to camp and we’ll go get her.”

He makes a pained noise. “Please,” he says. “She’s my friend. I don’t know what will happen if they—”

“Hey, Osae,” I say, snapping my fingers in front of his face until he focuses on me, and then pointing at the hilt of the Master Sword sticking up above my shoulder. “Hero of Time.” I point at Hunter. “Sheikan agent.” I point at Neesha. “Red uniformed Gerudo warrior. We’ll help her, I swear to you, but you need to talk fast because she’s getting farther away and I’m not summoning my horse here.” For one thing, it’s bad enough I’m stuck in literal Hell, I am _not_ putting Epona through that, just on principle, and I don’t even know if the magic would work to bring her here, and I don’t know if she’d be able to get out again. And for another, this terrain is marshy and untrustworthy, and I might as well break her leg myself if I’m gonna do that.

Osae’s bones rattle in the skeleton equivalent of taking a deep breath. “That light is her. It’s fire. They’re … they’re hurting her, whoever they are.” He flexes his hands. “It’s probably ghost grabbers. They’re not intelligent creatures, they’re just… doing what they’re made for. Sometimes they get confused by her. They’ve tried to take her in the past.”

“Not grave robbers?” Hunter asks, thinking of the group that jumped us while we were trying to get that sleep we’re missing so bad right now.

“The grave robbers don’t mess with us,” Osae says. “They’re afraid of the Wanderers.” He looks over at Jinni and Ketari. “They really should stay here. The grabbers can undo what we’ve done. If they get them, they’ll take them to the cauldron.”

I hiss my breath out between my teeth, then turn to look at them. “Jinni,” I say, and I’m using my King voice, which causes her to flicker into a memory of surprise, because I don’t know that she’s ever heard it. I didn’t really figure out how to do it until after … well, until after. Not that I get a chance to show her now, because Ketari flickers and is suddenly wearing civilian clothes instead of her uniform and arching an eyebrow at me as she shifts her weight over to one hip and gives me a look, like, _go ahead. We’re all on the edge of our seat waiting to hear what you have to say. Been a while since I last heard a good joke._ Or maybe, like, _okay, but you’re not_ my _king._ Or maybe actually just, _bite me._

“There’s the light again,” Neesha says. “It’s getting further away.”

I throw my hands in the air and stomp my feet a little, because Nayru, Farore and _Din_ I’m too tired for this! “Osae, go back to camp and tell the others what’s happening, but do _not_ come after us. Jinni, Ketari, stay close. I mean it.” Shaking my head I turn in the direction of the light. “Let’s go.”

“You maybe wanna—” starts Hunter, but I cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I know how this works. Farore’s Wind!” Osae stares at the glowing green ball of light that hovers in the space above my head, but we don’t have time to give him the rundown of Great Faerie magic. I point at him as we start jogging down the hill. “Don’t touch it!”

“He’s totally going to touch it,” Neesha notes as we leave the relative safety of the camp behind and run forward into the dark, starlit marsh beyond.

“Yeah,” I sigh, “I know.”

***

## A Brief Interlude

Brayden spent the hour or so after he’d snuck Anna out sleeping, and while he slept, he dreamed: of blood-soaked straw on the floor of a tower in the desert, and of a cold stone altar on which two entities were forced into the shape of one, and of an endless sea of black oil, filling his lungs and dragging him down and drowning him in his own mind, over and over and over again. And each time he woke to a sea of frightened, bloodied people and wondered whether this was what life was. Just an endless series of prisons.

He raised a hand to his face and tried to rub the grogginess from it. _Dad teaching Bruiser to cook in the kitchen, before the war,_ he thought. _He gave me the spoon to lick because I was mad that I was too small to help. The hot springs at night, that first winter with Natalia, watching the snow fall and talking about all the things we’d never had time to before. The Archery Shop in the morning, full of the kids and their bickering and Bruiser making that old pancake recipe of dad’s and the war’s been over for decades and I get to be part of this now._

It was a trick Impa had taught him. When the nightmares were bad and hard to shake and the feelings you had in them stuck around longer than they should. Think of your grounding memories. The ones that put the lie to the simple story told by your darkest moments. The ones that prove your life is more complicated, more varied, more colourful than they want you to think.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but it never hurt.

He was pulled from this exercise by a shuddering gasp that ran through the tired crowd as the doors opened, but it wasn’t a big group of moblins this time. It was a small group of Hylians – three guards wearing Durnam’s tabard, looking a little grey around the face as they surveyed the crowd. They watched the people – their own people – as they scuttled back and away from them like fearful animals and exchanged a look of uncertainty. _Not what you signed up for, boys and girls?_ he thought, watching the gauntleted hand of the woman in the lead rise, hesitate, and then fall again.

She shook herself free of whatever she might have been feeling and stepped forward. “We are looking for someone specific. A father to a blue-eyed boy.”

_Ah_ , thought Brayden, and felt every second of his forty-two years. _And I suppose they think they’re being subtle about it._

He didn’t have many options, but there were a few and he ran through them in his head for the sake of being thorough. Ultimately, though, there wasn’t much point in trying to avoid this. Whatever anonymity he had, it had been on a countdown to expiration since arriving, and now that a giant red flag had been so very publicly raised…well. Suffice it to say that it was a good thing he didn’t really need it anymore, anyway. He’d done what he could, set what pieces he could reach in motion, and all there was left to do now was ride it out and see where everyone ended up in the end.

He couldn’t imagine what Durnam thought he had to say to him at this point in the game, but … well, as he considered it, he realized that even if he didn’t much care what Durnam had to say to him, there were a few things he wanted to say to Durnam. Oh yes. Those sprang to mind quite easily.

One last mental check: had he done everything within his current power to tip the scales in this particular conflict? Yes. Was there any benefit anonymity would provide to him at this point that would make it worth preserving? Probably not. Would revealing himself create risk for any of those under his protection or receiving his service? No, not at this point. Would this action be in service to the _Quis_? No, but neither would it conflict.

He’d done what he could for everybody else from the floor of this ballroom. Time to see what happened next.

He stood up, the motion definitive enough, different enough from the rest of the cringing, shrinking crowd, that it drew every eye in the room. A startled silence fell over the makeshift prison, as the quickest among them began to connect the contextual dots, and he spoke into it, softly, coldly: “My son has blue eyes. And you should think _very_ carefully about the part you’re playing in this before he comes home.” Despite himself, something that was almost a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, though there was very little humour in it. “He has a temper, you know.”

They all looked uneasy at this, but Brayden noted one of the ones in the back, older than the others, go utterly white at the implications. Crossing a Queen was one thing. People did that all the time. Crossing the Hero, though, and through him the Goddesses? While your neighbours and kinsmen witnessed the blasphemy with damnation written all over their faces? Her lips moved silently, and though he was too far to make out the words they formed, he would have put solid money on it being a prayer for protection, or maybe forgiveness. He hoped forgiveness. A yearning for atonement he could work with.

He let the guards approach him. Let them bind his hands. Let them lead him out of the ballroom, away from the silent, staring faces. The door fell shut with a gentle thud, but the guards winced as though it was a tomb falling shut. They hesitated then, just a second, barely long enough to exchange another glance, but it was enough time for Brayden to step into the space they left and say: “They’re moblins, you know.” And he looked at the older one as the spell protecting the moblins from their awareness started to unravel and bald horror began to creep across their faces. “It’s not too late.”

“We have our orders,” said the one on Brayden’s left, his voice hard and grim, but with a note of regret, of stress, of doubt.

“So follow them,” Brayden said. “You’ll need reinforcements to get all those people out anyway, and I assume there are more of you in Durnam’s quarters.”

“You’re a traitor,” said the woman who had called him out of the crowd. It wasn’t a question, but it also wasn’t _not_ a question. It made Brayden regret not trying to widen the cracks in Durnam’s guard before now.

“Maybe,” he said, because semantics weren’t what mattered right now, “but I’m _not_ a moblin.”

She stared at him for a very long time, then exhaled sharply between her teeth. “Mina, take point. Alin, fall in with me.”

“But,” said the older woman who was apparently named Mina, “we can’t just—”

“What we _can’t_ do,” the unnamed woman snapped, “is discuss this in front of _him_. One thing at a time. Let’s just get him to the King before they realize we’ve—”

“Regent,” Brayden corrected.

“Shut up,” she snapped and shoved him forward.

***

“So,” said Bel, eyeing her partner-in-lurking curiously, “did you ever think your career was going to take this path?”

Liam, who was doing one of the worst lurks she’d ever seen, sighed heavily, the sound only slightly marred by sourness. “No,” he said. “I really didn’t.” He fidgeted with the sleeves on his pilfered uniform, which were just a little too short for him. “I thought I was going to stand on some walls and ask travellers what their business was and bring in a nice steady paycheque. Maybe buy my folks some nice solstice presents for once.” Bel winced sympathetically for him. Even assuming a best-case scenario in which no one died and the war-or-whatever-this-was ended and they took back Castletown quickly and largely in one piece … there was still no way they were getting things sorted out and cleaned up in time for him to get his back pay before solstice.

_At least,_ she thought, _he gets to go home when this is all over_. It was a bitter thought, and it cut deep, but she didn’t want to be the kind of person who was so caught up in her own wounds that she couldn’t be happy for someone else, so she swallowed it back down and pretended it hadn’t happened.

“Well, on the bright side,” she said, “if everybody survives this, you’ll probably get a medal. I can—” she paused and rethought that. “I mean, Eldrick can put in a good word with the queen and make sure of it.” Maybe… maybe right before she had been captured, Zelda had been trying to help her, but… between the treason and the exile and the sort-of-technically-jailbreak-to-avoid-exile, Bel didn’t think it likely that her putting in a good word for someone was doing them any favours anymore. _At least,_ she thought with desperate cheer, _I won’t have as many people to buy presents for this year._

“A medal won’t buy solstice presents,” Liam pointed out.

“No,” Bel agreed, “but it’ll impress the ladies,” and did her best not to smirk when a flush of colour darkened the young man’s cheeks. _How on earth did you get promoted to Captain this young?_ The answer, of course, was opportunists wanting someone in charge they could control, and who better than someone who was basically a new recruit with just enough competence for you to claim he was a rising star. Maybe he could have been, with a little more time and a little more experience. A little less magical brainwashing wouldn’t have hurt, either.

They _all_ could have done with a little less magical brainwashing.

“Do you think it’s going any better in there than last time?” he asked, just a smidge too loudly as his desperation to change the subject overwhelmed his more important desire to remain unnoticed by anyone passing by.

Bel hissed at him and he blushed deeper, but subsided. They waited a beat to see if anyone was going to come see what the yelling was about, but none of the nearby soldiers seemed inclined to do so. Bel relaxed and thought about lecturing him, but there wasn’t much point. He wasn’t a Sheikah – _neither are you anymore_ – and he was doing his best. 

“Do you mean better than the last _three_ times?” Something too wry to be humour twisted her lips. She glanced over at the tent their little lordling had smuggled himself into – fancier than the ones they were hiding between by a significant margin, but also decidedly less fancy than the ones Eldrick had already been to. It was increasingly obvious that he was running out of favours to fish with, and also that no one was biting. She was starting to consider options for approaching the Commander herself, since the head of the house of Eldrick seemed unable to bring himself to do the obvious thing. The moon was at its zenith now; they were running out of time to coddle him.

“Yeah,” said Liam, and sounded dejected. “Bel, what happens if this doesn’t work?”

She was spared from delivering the bad news by the tent’s door flapping open and Eldrick storming silently out into the night. It was obvious from the fury in his face that this visit had gone no better than the others. Bel and Liam exchanged a wincing glance, before waving Eldrick over to them.

“Dorian—” Bel said.

“Don’t,” Eldrick snapped and pushed past her.

Bel balked. She had put up with a lot tonight, and whatever this _boy’s_ titles were, there was a limit to what she was willing to take. Hers weren’t the only problems that didn’t matter in the face of what they were dealing with, but it increasingly felt like she was the only one putting them aside. She snapped out her arm and grabbed the young lord’s shoulder to stop him from storming away. “We don’t have time to keep swaddling your pride! Renaud and the others are counting—”

“Don’t!” Eldrick shouted, rounding on her in a fury.

“Hey,” said a soldier, pausing in her passing by to stick her head between the tents and stare down the little makeshift alleyway at them. “What’s all the shouting—?”

Eldrick whipped around so fast that his cape – which he had because he’d insisted Bel steal him one from an officer’s uniform – snapped in the frigid air. Bel couldn’t see his face, but the look he fixed the soldier with must have been impressive, because she paled and disappeared back around the corner, muttering angrily to herself about people who couldn’t figure out their interpersonal issues _before_ deployment, gotta bring it _with them_ and make everyone else _awkward_ , got a damn _war_ to win, what are people _thinking_. 

The three interlopers stood in the alley, holding their breath and waiting to see what followed, but no one else approached them.

“We should move,” Liam said, nervous, but more because of the building tension between Bel and Eldrick than the fear of being caught – which, Bel thought, was saying something. Still, he wasn’t wrong. She gestured for the other two to lead the way and fell into her now customary position as rearguard.

They moved as casually as they were capable – mostly Eldrick looked angry and Liam looked nervous and Bel looked tired, but all of that fit in just fine in a war camp preparing for what was likely to be a nasty battle the next day. She was pretty sure Eldrick was too angry to be useful right now – she was doing her best not to be, but wasn’t too prideful to suspect she was maybe failing – but Liam’s head, at least, occasionally turned as he sought a new spot for them to lurk and discuss their next steps at a hopefully more reasonable volume.

Bel hung back from the other two, careful to keep them in her sight, except for one point, about a minute after leaving their previous hiding spot. She brushed shoulders in a crowd with another soldier and felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise like the hackles on an animal scenting danger. Long attuned to her own instincts, she slid her hand under her coat to ready her knife, and turned, casually, to glance behind her. 

The soldier she’d brushed up against was moving through the crowd with suspicious ease. He was walking with another soldier, but unlike most of the others around them, these two weren’t talking, and none of the other soldiers called out to them as they passed. Between the winter gear and the angle, she couldn’t see their faces, but there was a scent, just barely, on the wind – if you knew what to look for.

Frowning darkly, she withdrew her hand from her coat and turned to chase the other two down.

Well. At least she had a salt-the-earth option if she needed one.

And it was looking more and more like she was going to need one.

She spotted the boys ahead of her, standing on the edges of a fire lit by some other soldiers, most of whom were dozing or chatting quietly with each other and hadn’t noticed the two lurkers on their fringe. Liam was leaning in and speaking in hushed tones to Eldrick, so Bel slowed her pace and took her time catching up. Best to let Liam talk Eldrick down out of whatever tree he was climbing up into. The way things were going, Bel was as likely to chase him back up into it.

She wished she’d had more time (any time, really) for research before heading out here. She’d never been officially assigned to Castletown and didn’t have the kind of familiarity with its politics and pitfalls this type of work usually required. She knew the major houses, of course, everyone did, and she could name all the Heads and probably some of their spouses or heirs who were already of age. But that wasn’t the same as understanding the way things moved beneath the family trees. She didn’t know enough about Eldrick’s fear of his big sister (and it _was_ fear, she could smell it off him) to know how to coax him into doing the obvious thing.

_Well that tracks, doesn’t it?_ she thought, unable to resist the sudden wave of bitterness. _Can’t convince anyone of anything sensible these days._ But she hissed at herself and, with an effort, managed to let it go for now. She could be bitter later. She could be angry later. Right now she had a job to do – and while she didn’t have a lot of hope that Darunia’s plan was going to work (Darunia was a wonderful person, but he didn’t really understand how the Sheikah worked when it came to things like oath breaking), she still wanted to do _something_ to make up for decisions made and actions taken that couldn’t be undone. She couldn’t leave Hyrule, couldn’t go into exile, without doing at least that much.

_Can’t give Hunter back his dad, can’t give Brayden back his son, can’t give Thomas back his naivete, can’t give dad back his daughters, can at least give Zelda back her Queendom. At least that._

Liam caught her eye as she joined them at the edge of the fire, and then turned to give Eldrick an encouraging look.

The latter appeared, for a moment, like he was chewing something particularly foul, but he managed to swallow it and say: “One more try. I have one last card to play.”

Bel narrowed her eyes at him. “And then?”

“And then … we can discuss … alternatives,” Eldrick managed. “But this one will work.”

Nayru, Farore and Din, she was getting tired of optimists. “Why is this one different than the last four?”

“Because I’m not going to bribe this one, I’m going to threaten him,” Eldrick replied. “You and Liam will accompany me this time. I don’t need you to do anything, I just need you to look frightening. He’s another Terral, but a lower ranking one. He’s more at risk than Edwin with their Head murdered. I can use that.”

Bel opened her mouth to offer her sincere and honest opinion of this plan – which was that it was as much a waste of time as all the other attempts had been – but Liam was looking at her with a pleading expression on his face. This wasn’t much of a compromise, but it _was_ a compromise, and probably one that had taken Liam significant wheedling to obtain.

_Should have been a diplomat, not a guard,_ she thought angrily at him, but ultimately managed a terse: “Fine.”

Relieved, Liam gave them both an encouraging nod. Eldrick took the lead and they moved through the camp much as they had been all night: sticking to the shadows where possible and trusting in their disguises when not.

He led them toward a tent closer to the edge of the camp than the others had been, and not really all that discernable from those of the regular soldiers in terms of size and stature. The only thing that really set it apart was the guards standing at the tent flap. Whoever was within was not somebody with the resources to augment the standard issue officer’s allowance, and therefore not somebody with the resources to be of much use to them, but Bel bit her tongue and managed to keep it all inside. _Last one,_ she thought, _and then I take matters into my own hands._ “Need us to clear out the guards?” she offered with a reasonable impression of civility. Liam was already moving like he was going to. They had a whole routine now. Liam was almost getting good at it, though he remained a terrible liar.

“No,” said Eldrick. “I was thinking we would cut our way in through the back. More threatening that way.”

_Was I this unsubtle when I was eighteen?_ Bel wondered, but she kept her opinions to herself. The faster they got in there and failed, the faster they could get on with their lives. She drew her knife from within her coat and took point, leading them carefully around the tent and to a corner, out of sight of the guards on either side of it. “We’ll have to move fast,” she said. “Let me go first and slice it open, then dart right through. Keep your weapons sheathed but have them loose and ready just in case.”

She waited for their silent acknowledgement of this before creeping out of their hiding spot and over to the side of the tent. She paused briefly, her breath held, to listen to what was happening on the other side, but she didn’t hear anything. If there was anyone in there, they were either alone or asleep. Good enough, either way.

Her knife – sharpened religiously and with love – sliced through the thick fabric of the tent without a whisper and she paused again, to see if anyone inside had seen. A quick peek through the new slit didn’t show her much, but she could see the shadow cast by a single person seated at a desk near the centre of the tent, with their back to her. She saw no signs of anyone else, so she turned and gestured for the others to hurry over, while keeping an eye out for unfortunate patrols.

Eldrick went first, straightening his back and adopting a posture of confidence and aggression. “Terral,” he growled, in what Bel suspected was an imitation of his father. She and Liam slipped through the slit in the tent and moved to stand just behind his shoulders, “time is short, and my patience is thin. Give me—!” he cut himself off with a sound that was every inch a startled squawk, as the object of his aggression turned to face them, without surprise or fear.

“Dory,” said a woman who was definitely not Terral. Her identity would have been obvious from the many decorations gilding her pristine uniform if the colour of her eyes, the proud tilt of her chin, and Eldrick’s stunned recoiling hadn’t given her away before they could. Cursing herself for not spotting the trap sooner, Bel grabbed the young lord and whirled toward the flap she’d cut into the back of the tent.

“I wouldn’t,” said the woman, with enough certainty that Bel paused. “The instant you entered I had my men surround us. They have orders to shoot on sight if you leave.”

In Bel’s grip, Eldrick straightened, and the poison in his voice surprised her, even as she was running through and rejecting a rapid-fire series of options. “You can’t just—!”

But Bel licked her lips and cut him off. “The men surrounding us,” she said, turning back to the woman, “you know them personally?”

This earned her the arching of an exquisite eyebrow, but the woman nodded. “To a one.”

Bel let go of Eldrick and turned back to the woman, ignoring the young lord’s betrayed look.

Well. They were in it now. Only way out was through.

“Have a seat,” said Commander Amira Eldrick, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk. “We have a lot to discuss.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Din deny the darn this soul!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520530) by [Elenca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenca/pseuds/Elenca)




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